You want to see my blank stare
after death, tasting like metal,
came to meet me half-way?
The red on living canvas;
the rose blooming,
and the blue lips.
Hear the chambers drown my last,
after the thorns tore
my internal sails?
A drum beat fading,
the river slowing,
and no more.
Smell the claret stains,
my blush gone bittersweet
and reeking of ruby metal?
Adrift in the Red Sea
after the lead rain,
you can.
As my debut to this site, I'd like to start with a poem I've held close to my heart. I've never ceased to love it - despite its less than tasteful content.