You usually like cherry lips.
Red from the blood that spilled from your hands.

You wipe it away as if it gives you solace, as if you are forgiven every time my red lips are in your embrace.

You always touch me, I dare say, love me, only if my lips are covered in red.
Otherwise, you stay away, far away.
As if any other color my lips are dressed in repulses you, makes your desire for me worn out.

The warmth of your lips on mine, the teeth marks of adoration is cut off, like you have instantly build a metal wall that can only be melted with the color red.

So this time in defiance I wore ravishing rose on my lips you so adore.

You looked at me for a second longer. You did not move, and it made me wonder: how much you love the color red, what moves you? me or something else instead?

But my questions were defeated the moment your lips assaulted mine. You did not care what color it adorned, it felt like you liked the feel and the shape of it more.

Your passion engulfed me wholly.

You kissed me. Kissed me again and again.

First a soft touch. Then your eyes met mine. They sparkled as if it was seeing me for the first time.
Then the passion ignited like fire, your teeth caught my lips as if your need to engulf me was dire.
Your love for red rose had disappeared, and you found this pinkness very dear.

You smeared the rose as you kissed me to my bones. You took my lips with you as you kissed me on my cheeks, trying to paint my being with the soft blush rather than the harsh reality of red blood. I have painted over your love for red. Now all you see is the color of rose instead.

I also have flipped a switch in you because: never have you given me such a soul wrenching, heart breaking kiss. Never have you loved me as much as this.

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