Sunday Shades of Red

Deepest crimson,
like the wine we shared last night.
The color of my lips,
like burning rubies,
rendered raw by frantic kiss.
The tint of garnet nipples
as they wakened
to the teasing of his touch.
The pigment of my tongue,
my velvet stroke,
as it slid along his shaft.
My blushing hue--
wet, swollen passage--
granted access to my soul,
like spring's first blooming rose,
opened for him--and him alone.
Hot molten glow of fiery, frenzied, urgency:
our boiling bodies
churning, flowing, fusing,
then erupting,
igniting hearts, uniting souls!

Deepest crimson,
like the wine we shared this morning,
staid eyes cast down
in holy, bloodshot shame.
Flushed, repentant, coral cheeks,
florid, nervously-wrung hands--
we're shaken by our first unchaste communion.
We are fractured, scarlet prisms of possibility--
love, lust, passion, sin, sacrifice, and guilt--
the shattered sanguine shards
in battle for our futures, hearts, and lives.
He is one with my life’s blood;
His essence courses through my veins.
With heart ablaze and soul aglow,
I turn to seek his gaze.
His look speaks silent truth;
we see last night through different eyes.
Just as I rose to grasp for love,
he fell into the pit of lust--
my purest hope of life-long love
was but for him the stain of sin.
We bow our unkempt heads
within the sacrament of prayer.
As he earnestly repents of me,
I stare down at cherry toes,
standing, stunned, at life’s crossroad,
shedding crushed, rose-colored glasses,
watching the palette of my world
forever change.