Crimson nails that scratch vermilion lines across

heat-flushed cheeks,

artificial Gatorade sweat and the spark of a cigarette.

Flash and pain of a cherry burst, a strawberry

in-between shining glossed lips,

three inch heels and rubbed-raw skin.

Burning nose and the lighter that lit the crack,

track marks and blistering feet on asphalt,

the sun setting on traffic.


Oh, your hat, shirt, shoes, belt:

my tongue and the back of my throat:

the bullet hole and the spreading stain:

oh, and it's all your fucking color.

The color of a blood.