2001-08-22 - 10:48 p.m.
Ripe red mangoes
I was craving for the succulent saccharine satisfaction.
The almost awkward starkness of a gerbera's black centre against its vermilion petals-
Cleverly arranged to brighten up any hospital ward.
Plush crimson drapes, jewelled elephants, gold tassels
The rich opulence that comes from the culture of the poverty-stricken.
Meticulously manicured nails, topped with two coats of Ferrari red lacquer
Hooker, Lancome model, or politician's wife?
A fiery Hawaiian sunset: frangipannis, Elvis, cocktails
What do I know- I've never been to Hawaii.
The brash, incongruent sight of a red pashmina in winter
What audacity, what crassness, you obviously don't belong in Melbourne.
I miss the sprays of pussy willow which neutralise the gaudiness of excessive reds during Chinese New Year
I used to pull the husks off, to expose the fluffy white buds.
My birth stone is garnet you know,
Yes, the cheap red stone that doesn't match up to a ruby.
And I have a fetish for red shoes,
Have I mentioned I'm an accessory whore?
I wanted to paint my room a nice deep shade of red,
But mum said it would be an eye sore.
My dog Milo has a red collar,
Only because her purple one had been shredded by her childhood playmate, Oreo.
It's been years now, since the day we first met, when you wore your red checked shirt, and I was in my burgundy dress.
I remember it well, because you wore it again when you told me about her.
Red - the universal colour of passion and sin.
Red - my colour of bittersweet memories.
