It's Still Life

Red.

I am happiest
when I’m red.
Red. Noisy as taffeta,
layers of scarlet,
vivid,
livid,
riveted
to vermillion,
dripping
red swishes,
chameleon bright,
drawn from
the first ribbon of rainbows,
where pots of gold root,
red as my smile,
my fingernails.
Red pouts.
Classic red.
Fire engines.
Flaming.
Apple.
Red smears.
Long kisses
when you read my lips.
If wishes were kisses,
you’d read me.
Red.