National Poetry Month: Roses Are Red

Roses Are Red

Roses are red, my love,
soft crimson
or scarlet
The colour of velvet wine
so cloying
like blood
I remember the red rain
that night
petals falling
And the half open window,
breeze fluttering
spattered curtains
Roses are red, my love
bang, bang
you’re dead

© A. F. Stewart 2017 All Rights Reserved