25 November 2012
Some may call it 'scarlet', The colour of stirred blood, The splashing liquid of the vein, Pouring from flesh; a flood.
Some may call it 'crimson', The shade of roses' leaves, The petals crushed and falling down, Of wine on many eves.
Some may even call it 'rouge', The French tongue says it best, With heady scents of nights kept well, And feelings off your chest.
But I shall name it plainly, Call it nothing else instead, To me it's everything we have, So Ravish-Me in -Red.
Ravish Me (in) Red. • Opuss № I