Rouge

His resplendent garb as bright as the moon…

Like the petals of a rose slowly blossoming

A flower of blood upon the white armour blooms

Bursting forth as though a spring morn beckons.

“General,” he murmured, voice feeble, distant,

“Bring your face close.” Lying in my arms, a final order

“Yes, Your Majesty,” my screaming soul

He coughed painfully even more

Daubing his thumb in his abdomen wound, he smiled

“Fearless, I relied on you,

Yet, on a horse with a sword…

I never wanted you by my side, O Warrior Great.”

He smeared my lips with the crimson finger,

“Desired you always,

As the woman you are.”