we lay there.
it's a beautiful symphony
composed on a cold floor.

my head resting in the
nape of your neck;
my palm on your chest.

it's pulse exudes
into my veins
turning my blue

into crimson.

each beat grows
into a crescendo
of vessels filling,

bursting, e*** exploding
like shotgun shrapnel
to the face-spilling...

your face radiates,
"we should paint it red"
i smiled and you couldn't

figure out why.