I see a crumpled note strewn on the bed.
Paper grasped into a fist
or is it your skin?
ivory delights me, it's dangerous
how that ethereal glow
entices me to make unholy that flawless white
with veins of black ink.
poems and letters
are bubbling up and cluttering your body;
a monochrome mess.
I must open you
to smooth out the creases, and
cover over those words.
Your body is my canvas
but these mistakes go more than skin deep.
Can I wash them away?
Oh darling, I am turning it red.