Getting Hit

The lip and flesh in the cheek have split. Cut out like a gorge. Blood in the river. Blood is cells and plasma. It drips from the lips in a red seduction. In an act of commitment and complete submission. It says, "I would never tell you to stop".

The platelets are what form the dry cracks as it pools in the valley bellow the lips. Drips down the neck. Spit on the floor. It dries like paint. Like Matisse, a harmony in red.

She makes a soft sound, between a moan and a gurgle. The firm hand that caused the injury cups her cheek. Red is the colour of danger and passion. Like a snake in the grass.

She mumbles into the open hand. The skin is hot and veined. Flamed like a burning tree. Her eyes are water and the stream is subsiding, banks broken. Red is the colour of power, and riches and pain and anger. Red is the colour of blood.