Red Rooms
Poems of love in its most honest and difficult forms
[Intro prose to be written by the poet. This is a placeholder — edit this section in your own words.]
Not the red of roses. The red of something that has been felt deeply for a long time. The red of wine left too long in a glass. Of a door that is either an entrance or an exit, depending on which side you’re standing on.
These poems do not make love easy. They make it true.
Poems from this collection will be added in a future update.
The poems for this collection are being written.
They will appear here when they are ready.