The Color of Fury, Possessed

Love burns

The color of fury, possessed:

Warm to a lover’s

Distant touch;

Hell to enemy thot.

Gentle, such flows:

Love’s healing,

As it grows.

While cool strokes the bottom

Of the dewy morn,

After adrift through

Ancient night,

Prickles of warmth

Once again invent space,

And push back years

To the moment

Of love’s first embrace,

To the sight of your

Afternoon locks,

Bimetallic, they:

The deliciousness of

Hot copper strawberry

And tropic golden banana.