XI. Blushing Red

In his silk voice

Of rivers deep,

He gives a choice:

It's grin or weep.

 

I can withold

My faith in him;

I can be cold,

I can be grim.

 

Or I can trust

His plans for me

Are not with lust

To 'ny degree.

 

I'm upside-down -

The blood, it flows

Straight to my head;

Blushing red.