half a poem

Red

let the scarlet dreams evolve
beyond the bonds of your repose
to take hold of your consciousness
and their hues on it impose
for red is passion primary
and paints desires in true design
so fired senses must not sleep
but burn the brush of every line
in the hold of wakefulness
when every stroke enflames the skin
to blush in roses bloody tones
and therefore not be kept within.