Is this the red that should have been
dispersing art on a painter’s canvas?
Is it the red that matadors withhold from charging bulls,
perhaps to spur the fire on a fare lady’s smile?
Is this the red that brightens skies,
turning green leaves to yellow to reach it,
as branches shaking in the wind
casting that celebrated evening red across the sky?
I think it may just be the red
of Venus’ bare nipples,
the red of blossomed vibrant hearts
that meet in flesh, god Eros.