The rise and run of Love’s rapid fire
propels me forward in an icy red spiral.
Streams of red, yellow, and white.
The colors copulate with one another,
until you can no longer guess their shade.
The colors spin like mermaids in heat
they grab me by the hand-hand to my lips
commanding me no to speak a word.
Speaking here is for the weak-willed man and
only here, are you allowed to feel
to feel every flame as it splashes over you
branding your skin with polka-dotted tones
painting your skin crimson and black.
The embers-like footsteps in wet sand
semi-permanent, until life decides to forget
forget the regret of a tide washed in.
Each ember is a lesson to learn, a life
to live, a story to tell, a love to love,
love leaving brandings along your watery skin
like and embarrassed tattoo yearning
just yearning to be covered by a Siren’s Tale.
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