I dread the question

“What’s your favorite color?”

Because no one 

Will ever understand

Why.

My favorite color

Is the taste

Of candied strawberries

Dipped in copper.

When you slice open

Their skulls

The smell compels you

To incise deeper,

And deeper,

Until melodies

Of lust

Flood the air,

Poisoning it

With the intoxicating kiss

Of crimson delight. 

My favorite color

Is the salacity

Of an unrequited rose

When she begs

To be delicately loved,

But instead 

Is left

With rivers 

Of lechery

Running down 

Her armored stem.

I am addicted

To the euphoric sting

Of my body’s cries

For sanity.

When people ask

“What’s your favorite color?”

I have learned

To adorn myself in cotton

And simply say

red.