nilly deen

red.. like the bulb-bearing bumbling bar,
red.. like her hand-painted lips from afar -
red.. like the message intoned with the night
through the warm weary wandering air;

red.. like the blood-dripping gossiping tree,
red.. in the moment the soul is set free -
red.. like the fear and the anger at once
in the morning too bright for a skull;

red.. like the cider's soft, sweetening touch,
red.. like the skin sun-sullied too much -
red.. like the cured saved sal-vatining ham
and the day that is no longer young.

London, UK // August 2025