02/02
Technicolor red.
Forsake, abandon, refuse.
A plain, white room.
One chair, one small table.
Two small windows.
White curtains.
The wind blows through the room.
Musses the hair.
Plays along the clothes.
The eyelid twitches.
Virginal floor, white carpet, stained red.
The wind stops blowing.
The curtains don't move.
Love is...
Forsake, abandon, refuse.
Technicolor red.
Technicolor red.
Forsake, abandon, refuse.
A plain, white room.
One chair, one small table.
Two small windows.
White curtains.
The wind blows through the room.
Musses the hair.
Plays along the clothes.
The eyelid twitches.
Virginal floor, white carpet, stained red.
The wind stops blowing.
The curtains don't move.
Love is...
Forsake, abandon, refuse.
Technicolor red.
*Note* Originally published in "Staving Away the Sadness" (PublishAmerica, 2004) Originally posted on the now defunct AzrielJohnsonAuthor.blogspot.com 04/08/06
Azriel Johnson is an inkspatter analyst and a serial writer by night. He runs a small, not money losing publishing press and a weekly open mic with monthly features called Writing Knights Press and Writing Knights: Stark.
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