Crimson

And her red hair lights the wall
like a sunset streaming through the bedroom window,
leaving flecks of orange and gold
upon my smiling face
as I draw the curtains against the dusk,
leaving two shadows embracing into one figureless shape.
In the growing twilight,
her hair now a stream of deep burgundy
falls across her shoulders
as we dance our way into the night,
following unseen brush strokes in some unseen
masterpiece painting, toward the awaiting bed,
where our minds and bodies blend away
into an aesthetic slumber
in scarlet.