Red

By Hannah Bhullar

Red, I hear you, red. 

Like the tinge on your collar. 

The red between my legs ebbs like humid oceans wave on crispy Caribbean sand. 

Crash; hot red!

bleating sirens of ice. 

Metal ripped red; wires sliced red. 

Pooling heat. 

Red. 

Surging panic.

Red. 

The scream rips my throat red.

Red, I hear you, red.

Like the blush on your lips. 

The red on my cheeks permeates like the fumes of the Tanami desert. 

The red inside is out, out is flowing in. 

The red I feel is searing, it melts me from within. 

The red I see is velvety; soft to the touch. 

The red I drink is sweet, like the wine of desperate love. 

By Hannah Bhullar