Hot Red Blood

The force of tales.

Of hot red blood

All stories told,

Its colour speaks

Of rise and fall,

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Unlike the book

Betrayed by cover

The passion trusts

And loves no armour,

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When flowers bloom

They don’t feel naked

In open fields

Or lovers’ bouquets,

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Drunk as a bird

Discovered nectar

Its wings are wide

Nothing else matters,

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Oblations rain

Feed flame unceasing

The source of tales’

Deepest lyrics,

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At beauty’s peak

Incising innocence

We will forget…

That story never ends.

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