redness

the coffee mug knows my intentions

while i pretend to control my soul that jumps into my tongue

a black dress and a thread of conversation

excites my heavy lungs.

warm earlobes don’t understand

the line of reason coming out of her mouth

the virgin torso, like a barren land

of the matriarchal south.

i’m drenched in scarlet,

hopelessly

and yet this redness should be described and dealt with

dear life, why me?

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~ by rb on July 23, 2011.

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