You spoke love, red.
Made my face turn red.
But what’s with the
love for absinthe, red?
Made your face turn red.
Turn the TV off,
Cincinnati lost again, red.
Put the knife down,
before it turns red.
Maybe I should shut my mouth—
now it flows red.
Tragic.
A sound I can’t hear,
a moment I can’t see,
blue,
and then red.