" Crimson "
c. 98, Miriam M. WynnCrimson . . .
This is the color of your kiss,
The smell of you within my arms,
In my hair, on my skin;
With this simple state I'm in,
Magic is in everything.Crimson,
Underwater movements
That push and pull at me
Like tides--And really I don't think I mind,
So long as this continues . . .Red,
Dripping with anticipation
From every pore that's mine--Beads of sweat trickle from my skin
In fear--
In lust--
In expectation--
And I seeCrimson
Nothing else;
Deep velvet furniture and bed coverings,
Silken sheets of so-soft linen,
Cotton, velvet, maybe--Doesn't matter,
So long as I'm wrapped in you.Try--
Do you realize that this
Dream world we have descended into
Is ethereal, unbelievable,
Some fantasy--
But true?Crimson is the color
Of the womb that opens up to you.Do you . . .
Remember, the first time?I fell in love with you then and
Now I can't remember when
I ever existed without you--Crimson,
Lips, they part to take you in.I think I'm smitten,
But actually, I don't really mind--This state of Crimson is divine,
and being red never felt so fine . . .