Day Twenty-nine

 

Colour prompt.

 

Red

 

Red is for fire engines

And tomatoes.

For all those poems

Written according to the rules

chalked up on the blackboard.

 

Now red is the blood on my thighs.

Red is the mist over my eyes.

The ink in the pen that marks me.

The smell of the wind that howls-

meanly- in the space inside me.

 

Now I know colour is all in the bend of the light.

The mystery behind my eyes.

We are all motes dancing.

I guess the rules are broken.

 

 

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