Red

(12/19/2020)(c) 

Roses are red, Mary Beth. And red is a lure.
Fertile availability; a berry in the bush.
How relative red is. That passionate stop sign,
the burning poker in the fire, a graded paper.
 
Without refraction the only hue is black
-drenched invisibility
-a put-your-hands-out and don’t fall colorlessness.
 
Mary Beth, you said, “black feels like fear.”
I am fearless and unapologetically wear black every day.
Who needs lamplight when there is skin?
Put out your hands when you sense me coming.