Author's Note: Extremely short. Just one of my spur-of-the-moment little poetic brain bubbles. Enjoy.

Red

I haven’t a clue why it fascinated me so. It was not as if I had never seen red hair. Point and fact, I had seen every known hue on various heads and had quite an overabundance of my own adventures with dye. Yet I knew no one with such glorious auburn locks as he had, and certainly not anyone that might allow me to fondle them for hours on end. But Christian did.

Lying in bed with the frail winter sunshine crawling across the scarlet coverlet, I wound his mane of russet curls about my fingers. They bounced when I released each spiral in contrast to the gliding elegance of their owner and I giggled like a child at play. The dogs were fond of his thick hair also and often chewed it while he slept, thus I was forced to shoo one of our five canines away when it came time for my morning exploration of Christian’s tresses. He remained prone and mellow every time, studying me with his soft almond-shaped eyes as I slid my hands through the red coils. They fell so picturesque against his fair complexion and the bony nubs of his broad shoulders. I had never seen such hair as his, though I’d seen curls and red-heads a hundred times over.

Nickie eventually stirred (no doubt roused by the brush of my arm over his bare back) and raised his head, finding me on the right side with my bashful little grin and Christian on the left with a crooked ‘Good Morning’ smile. And he curled into my body with his silken black head against my throat while my arm surrendered and wound around him. Christian threw one emaciated leg over us both and added his own arm, tucking his head at the top of our little living totem-pole because he was the tallest by several inches. Nickie’s breath of my skin was like the breeze in Autumn and Christian’s red hair tickled my nose like fallen leaves.

Red is a color I have come to love. It represents passion, the heart, blood, Christmas, St. Valentine’s Day, magic shoes, and Fall. The heart ruled us all and bound us in its pulse. Perhaps it isn’t Christian’s hair that I cherish; maybe it’s just the color of love.