Fourteen days into February
we pucker lips for scarlet-hued kisses
thick and candied into love's own shapes,
pop sweet nothings off rued tongues,
melt down the chocolate-covered I
-dos before they can clot at the back
of our honking, hoar-frosted throats.
By the first of December, we're looking
for the meaning of color in another twist
on red. I finger that satiny strand
I pinned to my coat's rolled collar,
the longer end of ribbon fraying
like my short-circuiting memory. I'd wear
this emblem on my sleeve but then I
couldn't feel my heart pushing, pressing,
breaking against my thin chest wall.
© 2012 Maureen E. Doallas
I offer this poem for this month's Random Acts of Poetry prompt, "Red". What's your take on the color? Go here to read the post, then leave your poem or a link to it on the FaceBook Wall for T.S. Poetry Press by tomorrow, February 22. Your contribution could be featured at The High Calling or TweetSpeakPoetry, or in Every Day Poems.