Not just red but lipstick
and vermilion, sanguinary, Mercury
ascending, radiant
syrup waiting to flow
and collect like dew
on mouth and on chin.

Or pomegranate perhaps, the seed
specifically, oxblood,

almost        purple,          eat
and become the Earth.

But we know it's the beating heart,
that violent metronome,
gravity's plaything. Forgive us.
We are children and
we are oh-so hungry.