4No longer the red of raw passion
And yet not as chaste as white
But in between
The opposing poles,
Lays the colour of them at night
Not still the ruby of wanting
A dilution in their shades of red
A gradual decline
In the passing of time
To something superior instead
Not the fiery scarlet of lust
Or the crimson scold of heat
Just calm
And soft
And comfortable
In their perfect shade of pink.