“Hand me a glass of wine, my dear,”
The scales on your wrists escape me.
Ripple with me above the ground.
How is it my head is as smoggy as the sky?
Your mouth is sticky against mine,
As I watch it transforms into a grim slash.
Red wine, so red it’s crimson
“Make me a warm winter shawl, my dear,”
The cruel point of your needles startles me.
Weave with me through Indian Bouquets.
How is it your black button eyes burn me?
Your ears are reflective next to mine,
As I watch they transform into tinfoil caps.
Red yarn, so red it’s crimson.
“Scare me with tales of dark things, my dear,”
The flare of your nostrils frightens me.
Scream with me like tainted tears.
How is it your legs have no shadows?
Your hands are long on mine,
As I watch they transform into branches.
Red nails, so red they’re crimson.
“Show me something to remember, my dear,”
The flow of your body terrifies me.
Flicker with me across freckled cheeks.
How is it our veins pulse the same?
Your teeth are the pickets in a too-white fence,
AS I watch they transform into knives.
Red blood, so red it’s crimson.
