Red nail paint
I see this beautiful colour of red, the red that fills a lusty lip with all-consuming desire, a red that entices you, draws you to me.
It’s a cold windy evening, the thin white curtain drapes in my room sway callously, caressing my naked calf-muscle each time the wind blows. The wind grows stronger and louder — colder, with every gust.
I feel warmer and warmer — hotter with every whiff. I see red, I do a crazy little jig in my head. I think of the various rhapsodies of this red — a pale pink, a dull crimson, a bright maroon and a ridiculously luring red. Oxymorons work, sometimes.
I dab a little of this to apply it neatly over my nail with a thin paint brush with thinner bristles. I show it in the direction of the wind to dry them by blowing frailly.
Ah, the feels. Cold fingertips, a warmer body and hottest of reds on my nails as nail paint.
I love the pool of blood I am in. I can see you, lying in front of me, eyes open, motionless and almost in a trance.
Wait, are you dead?
No wonder they say blood is thicker than water.