lexical evasion

of all the bright red words  
that spring from the tap veins of our thought  
pooling like a mire and mixing with  
icky plasma and clothing fibre  
of all those crimson cerise
(hate those hackneyed adjectives)
colourwashes down the sink  
those darkened rusts on the blade-edge  
brown stains on the carpet  
(hair dye momma)  
 
why could we not call it blood