She didn't know what to wear on that day.
That day of madness and solace and sin.
She should wear those red shoes
High, gleaming, pointed;
Wickedly smiling from her wanton wardrobe.
'Harlot!'
He'd called her yesterday.
She'd squirmed in warm delight
And opened her legs some more,
Red heels glinting in the bedroom sun,
Shimmering reflections dancing on the mirror.
Desires tangled in her web
Taut and tantalising.
Temptation; she never could resist
Loving the serpent,
Its slimy trail
'What a naughty girl you are...'
Red.
Passion and warmth.
Fire and danger.
A beating heart of blood and love.
She broke out of her garden long ago
When the blossom fell
When the fruit shrivelled.
When the vermillion sunset melted her skin
Into glowing wax.
©Prettyintelligentprincess
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