Contemplating the Color Red

sitting on the edge of my bed
    I have thoughts of red
    as the wind outside
 whistling
 when  crimson drips
    tasting of the blush of chardonnay
kissing parched lips,
flashing over rosewater
like a wil-o-the-wisp
I stare into eyes
warble on
h
a
u
n
t
I
n
g
my vision
with sanguine dripping
from guillotine
don't drink the water
sip the nectar
of grapes instead
all through the night
your touch is possessing me
 sights flash in my addled brain
c
o
n
t
e
m
p
l
a
t
I
n
g

Red