Red was the sun that dusk,
and red was the reflection on the creek,
Red were the stiletto she wore,
and red was the wine that creeped.
Red was the color of her skin,
when I kissed her softest lips;
Red were her nails polished,
that dug into my hips.
Red was my blood that flowed,
when she bit into my skin;
Red were the sheets that night,
where we orchestrated our sins.
Red was the sun that dawn,
when I bid her goodbye;
Her red lipstick is all I remember,
of the chaos that ensued that night.
I remember her eyes too.
Big and brown and incredibly beautiful!
By: Viraj Belgaonkar