Red

• Grace Lanyon, Grade 12
• Poetry
• 2018

When you dip her in the middle of the dance floor, it is the colour of her dress.
When she whispers in your ear, it is the colour of her lips.
When you make love, it is the trace you want to leave all over her body.
When she places her palm over your heart, it is the colour that comes
to the surface as her fingertips trail
like a sentence that can never be finished.
When you see her in your bedroom with another, it is the colour of your breath.
When you smash the vase in the hall, it is the colour that threatens you
to abandon the shattered pieces.
When you scream at the top of your lungs, it is the colour that
pierces the atmosphere.
When she hears you, it is the colour of her pulse.
When you look in her eyes for the last time,
it is the fading colour of your heart
falling to your knees.
It is not the colour you see when she leaves.