Because There Is Red

The 'red-cock-will-crow-in-this-house' cushion

is sprayed with claret.

We all rest

in a drop the colour of magic,

reddened in the womb's wadding.

The coffin's inmost recesses

are chiffon rouge.

 

Jupiter's storm spot rolls

heart-felt to run fingers over.

Aura's simmer above red,

chamber-dream snug.

Hazard symbols on butterflies.

 

Curfew street lamps ply it,

a red 'stop' is in me.

You're absorbed by sea water

in that red-light dress.                                                                                           print 

                                                                                                 See Mag Contents for earlier poems by Barnes