It's Valentine's Day and we splashed red around oh yes like butchers carving up the day and we felt it in our hearts watching loved ones hurt to bleaching and as you do when grey deepens past twilight we turned to food in the crowded kitchen scrambling eggs around like free-range yellow clouds but heavy and hot as guilt. It's all okay now with the planets reliably winking stitched back into the sky and the moon in pale bandage - the sky's pendants like dream catchers above turbulent pillows.
All Kinds of Red
Published
Out of the Cave 