Burgundy

 
I think it good practice
That when I find myself
Wearing my long rose skirt,
The one with the slit up my thigh,
The skirt that I cut
And hemmed myself,
And when my nails are blood red
The kind of crimson
With a tinge of clay
The kind of crimson
That reminds me
Of the moments before I bleed
The color of iron and tissue
And unfulfilled biology
The feeble attempt at a life form
I pity my body
And that burgundy mess between my legs
Dripping from my other lips
Like my other mother
It is then,
And only then
When i drink red wine
The argentine malbec
I pretend as I drink it,
It is also coming out of me
It is the well deserved drink
Of the woman who adheres
To the power of the monochrome aesthetics,
to the woman in red
to the ovulating woman
to the god fearing woman
With carnal cardinal colored nails
And paint and cloth and elixir
The blood of Christ is the only appropriate pairing
For this occasion of
serendipitous
And color coordinated
alignment