She is all the red leaves
that set my forest on fire,
dripping from my branches
falling to earth like flames.
Her color burns brighter
than any other
even as she disintegrates,
destroying me.
This place is mine.
Noone else can enter my frame.
This place is hers.
..................................................
just one of many poems my good friend Teresa penned for me ages ago. I wish she would relent and do a book with me. She is the reason I paint red. Before I met her, everything was blue.
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