Black, Red and Black, 1968 - Mark Rothko
Black, Red and Black, 1968 – Mark Rothko


Helen, you look like a new wound tonight.
Your lips rubbed raw by one thirsty for your skin.

Helen, the red you wear begs you for mercy.
Your cloak of blood brings even the night to shame.

I cannot speak the language that asks for you to take it in its mouth.
I know only the tongue that made slaves of men.

Helen, the rooms are on fire.
When you move it is a pyre on slow heat.

Helen, your eyes are two ravens tonight.
The hair across your face like a veil you have no ask for.

Mountains come to claim you. Tinder within, ice without.
I turn to look at you and a hundred quiet moans escape my lips unheard.

Blood moon, terrifying beauty.
The softest knife. The deepest damage.

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