The room was cloaked in red

as I made my way over to you.

Sitting down on the bed I

stretch out along the soft sheets.  Your skin

feels like the last smile I’ll ever hear and

the moon pushes milky light into the room.

 

I ask if you’ll make room

for someone with skin

as rough as mine but you

just tell me how red

my lips look against your tired thoughts.  I

close my eyes and

 

listen to your bones fold and

mold into the darkness.  Red

light whispers at our sleep but I

stumble across the room

to close the blinds as you

reach through your dreaming for my skin.

 

You trace your fingers along the freckles on my skin

and tell me it reminds you of the night sky and

I fall asleep to the rhythm of your touch as the room

spins us in its web of red.

The dreams we have must be intertwined because I

can feel you

 

there next to me.  You

breathe into my sleep while the room

carries us forward, together, into the red

of the night.  I look to my left and watch our skin

melt together.  Our bodies get cast in bronze and

statues are formed in the sand.  I

 

walk hand in hand with you but I

stop to look in the mirror as our faces form like death masks and

you just smile.  I watch our skin

separate from the molds as you

begin guiding our bodies, like ships, to the room

where we are blanketed in red.

 

This room wasn’t expecting to see our vulnerable skin

talking with the red of the walls and

I didn’t know that you were only a season.