The dress left little to dream, a stained red
her sable hair veiled a porcelain skin.
A body well-toned to beauty's visage,
clinging to its youth in gentle fervor.
She danced with eyes, aloof of the madness
She danced with lips, a smile never faded.
The night felt as if it never faded,
despite that coming sunrise colored red.
With it comes a certain kind of madness:
that furtive creep and crawl under the skin,
that dark attacks all good sense with fervor,
silent beneath a cool and calm visage.
How I gazed on her elegant visage!
How she seemed to glow and never faded!
That way she danced, enthralled in sweet fervor,
twisting, turning hips below a flash of red.
How I wished a taste of that supple skin!
Temptation leading, leaning toward madness.
How hard it may prove to resist madness,
quick, short glances break a stoic visage.
The blood runs warm beneath my pale, clenched skin.
The space around her blurs, faces faded,
till nothing exists but that flaming red.
Hands convulsing in maddening fervor.
The hotel room shakes, same violent fervor,
With naught to do but give in to madness.
The bets are all off when the bull sees red!
Screams painted mute on smile-less visage.
All drowned out, all of everything faded
aside from the taste of porcelain skin.
The sheets peeled off slowly like shedded skin.
Quiet specimen, amidst the fervor,
lays unmoving on the mattress, faded,
left without signs of receding madness.
Sunrise reflected on a still visage:
Smooth porcelain, white now shadowed in red.
That desire for ripe skin, the madness
built in fervor, broke sanity's visage.
Till the smile faded, the dress stained red.
--Sestina--