red 1

pretty much I was asked to right a poem, non formal, about red

Morning dew slides off of the soft petal

a thorn to catch it in the knick of time

a finger slips catching the sharpness

then more, more, more flowing

finger to lips, more, more

heart beating faster, more, more

Its always demanding attention

Expecting romance to blossom

hate to brew, anger to boil

and as the mercury rises

there is no shade that can bring it down