The Colours Of Red.

The red of freshly spurted blood,
Of roses crushed to dust,
Of love and danger meshed as one,
Of most desired lust.

The rouge that makes her full red lips,
The heat that makes a fire,
It's hot and cold and in between,
It's all two might require.

A colour bold and brash as none,
In dusk and so in dawn,
Of fractured piece of bloodied glass,
When lovers' hearts are torn.

Red can be a spite and death,
Of love, of lust, of pain,
Of warmth and tender loving care,
It plays 'gain and 'gain, again.