The rain shatters as it falls to the cobblestone,
the scent of petrichor strong in the air.
The rain hits a red umbrella, held by a woman
with lips as red as her shield.
The rain lands on the roof of a telephone booth,
dribbling down the red door.
The rain hits a red double decker bus,
a calming melody for the people inside.
The rain hits the blood flowing from a lifeless corpse,
courtesy of an admirer
of Jack the Ripper.
It's a chaotic beauty,
it's crimson London.