Image courtesy rebloggy.com via Google (painted by Leonid Afremov)
In the swirls of wine in your eyes,
I could see love shine through-
It had its tinges:
Each sand drop in hourglass;
Reflecting off its surface,
In a different tinge of red.
Sometimes pure red glinting-
Like the edge of a knife,
That can cut if need be,
Upon a tear in the rulebook.
Those same swirls become blood red:
When the smallest of thorns threatens harm,
To my fragile shell trembling with naivety;
It seethes with anger at those who advance,
With their treacherous blades of jealousy.
At times it transforms into a deep maroon,
Puzzling the seekers around:
With an air of a veiled sun,
Which may or may not reveal-
Its warmth divine.
On a cold winter morning,
It melts into a crimson;
Mirroring the victory dance-
My universe does,
When basking in their presence.