Magenta
She wore a dress the deepest shade of
Autumn when she answered the door.
I wondered if the auburn shade of her hair was natural.
The tulips that leapt from
My arms into hers melded with
Her lips as she smelled them.
Their petals grew to the daytime blue sky
And melted, painting it the color of evening.
The crimson wine, when pressed against her
Painted lips, resembled an undistinguishable
Glaze of bricks, lipstick, and cherry blossoms.
Fiery rings leapt from her tongue, and I was left
With a kiss at her door,
With the dancing mosquitoes who worshipped there.
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Copyright (c)2003 Gus Stevenson. All rights reserved.