Red is my Colour

It has always been.

Reflects the blood under my skin.

Enhances my fire,

or at least the blaze of its now dull desire.

It drives my swaying hips,

projects flares, does magic tricks.

It justifies a sultry lingering air.

A sultry lingering… memory

of the times I hit the road,

to conquer all the exotic places

with a girly sway of hair.

I was everything I could be,

a singer singing

on those lively stages that no longer are,

for who knows when I’ll perform again

for real people, with real sweat,

real sound of clapping hands,

real tears in their eyes.

Life is different now.

But red is still my colour.

It has always been.

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