The cerise comb that bravely attempted to contain the hoop of her curls
Finally looses its battle as the pale russet curls freely frame her face.

Remote in her own world she monitors the drying
Of newly garnet toe and fingernails

The natural rouge of her lips glow in the fireside light
As she unconsciously licks them

Her shapeable body that somehow always melds perfectly with hers
Flushes fiercely at having been caught nude on the vermilion hearth

She reaches for a puce hibiscus blossom from the bowl on the table
Carefully kneeling to place it in her hair and kiss her torrid lips

She wakes in the sanguine dawn
Her head still in the claret sweet lap she kissed earlier

Wondering what was with the phantasmagoric dreams
Of carmine slowly fading from her mind