Into the sensual.
Dripping red.
It cascades from neighborhood windows.
Often appearing misplaced.
A forgotten, out of touch hue.
In the land of fear, the primal tantalized by the innate.
It has not been forgotten but entirely dismissed.
Paraded for pleasure.
Tortured by power.
It’s contrast and shades,
deep and rich.
Penetrating the senses of the animal.
The instinct.
The feminine.
The masculine.
It’s dominance the mess-maker, bleeder, painting desire and gore, all at once.
It is the sacred of the sensual.
The sacred within you.
The sacred of life.

stephanie birch