Garish, the color of my lips on your skin, but I am never ashamed of how much I want you. Stark the bruises I leave on your chest: blame the way I need to taste you, grind the texture of you against my tongue. The red of me hunting down the red of you, a chase I cannot see an end for. Hide me in the dark corners of your room, the breath of calm before the rising sun, and let me wrap my arms around you: know me here, where quiet reigns, and there is only the pulse of our blood.