Red
Red.
Redder than your flushed cheeks.
Redder than the blood that pulsed through your veins.
Red.
Red.
Redder than your used lips.
Redder than the marks that were scattered across your neck.
Red.
Red.
Redder than the satin sheets you writhed and soaked all over.
Redder than the lace discarded beside the bed.
Red.
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.