The Wholesome Satyr

she could have said crimson, kiss'd
the bland waters with life to wine,
or in the throes of passion hissed,
her inflamed need in words carmine.

she gets my sanguine pulse to pound,
with rubescent gaze - such nonchalance!
yet like beauty that need not expound
it's suffused worth - feign eloquence

red, she says and red aflame, skies, skin
and smooth silk of igneous lips, red akin
to concupiscent end. red to anew begin.