The Red Party

We are two on a couch, in a full house.

The wallpaper is red and velvet.

There are slurs of red light

Shaking out of a projector.

People move in waves.

They sway, so slow, then crash up

Against themselves

And their eyes burn white

With pleasure.

Around us, it smells of loud skies,

Burnt wood and

Red.

I break our silence:

‘Are you bleeding?’

Because, yes,

A camelia is trembling on your lip.

It seeps

Right out of you.

‘You are bleeding!’

The camelia wets and smudges your cheek.

It crawls down your chin

And then,

Lets itself drip.

There is a pause, a hum,

Before I lift a hand to hold,

In a red grasp,

Your neck.

The blood on the crease of your lip

Blooms

When we lean inward

And fall

Onto each other.

The red spreads

To my lip.

We meet, a second time.

You say, in a breath :

‘J’ai mal..’[1]

You are in pain.

The cut is deeper.

The camelia is flaming, I think I can see it

Beginning to burst.

We are fighting to stop the redness

From leaking out of your lips.

I take a napkin and wipe your mouth,

Then mine.

I swallowed the camelia up

With a swipe.

[1] Translates to 'I am in pain..'