My colour is all of the crimson shades.
It is the liquid that pours after skin meets the blade.
The glow that appears on embarrassed cheeks,
And the hues that emerge when the sunset peaks.
It sounds like the crackle of a wood-burning fire.
When the boom of two quickening heart beats transpire.
And the billowing voices of a church-singing choir.
It tastes of the reddest and rarest of meat,
Like those tiny heart-shaped cinnamon sweets.
And lingers and burns with a chilli peppers heat.
It feels like the deepest roots of real pain.
And the lowest point of desperate shame.
It's the passion and power deep within your heart
And the inspiration that creates all beautiful art.