Red was always your colour.
Standing under the carmine sign of O’Connells
balanced precariously against the door
you smoked roll-ups and laughed in breathy howls.
Jonny poured your cranberry vodkas dangerously sweet
and your chilli hot lips left marks
against the rim. Life was indiscrete
in its warnings back then. Those candy kisses
burned through me when I stole you home.
We were equally ravenous, but you consumed me
like tinder stock. I should have known
you could only love in degrees.
I’m cindered carrion, pecked clean by cold regret.
You glow in carmine, burning a cigarette.