The Way of Red

It is the way she moved her eyes in that smoky, vacant bar

The way she glances over, to the man watching from afar.

It’s in the way he observes her, his eyes showing not couth,

To her smooth, icy voice, “Who’s the guy over in the booth?”

Her velvety soft lips let her empty glass linger,

While he effortlessly slips his band off his left ring finger.

It is the feeling she gets when he leads her back to his place,

And how suddenly all presence of morals is gone without a trace.

The clothes on the floor, the passion in the room, the heat of the moment rising,

It was nothing compared to the shade of the tears his wife was now fighting.

He knew by the silence in the air that something had gone wrong,

While his new found mistress suddenly realized she no longer wanted to belong.

It was the way his wife pointed the gun, her heart controlling the trigger,

His final attempts so pathetically lacking that crucial sense of vigor.

It’s in the way the echoes bounced around the halls,

And the way their love affair was now splattered wildly over the walls.

It was finally fading down in her, she knew what she had done,

It was the way she kissed him on the cheek, her last and final one.