“The red sands of Marrakesh, sprawling at the foot of the Atlas like a wounded Leviathan....”
“Whether we wound or are wounded, the blood that flows is red.”
“He read it for the same reason an animal tears at a wounded foot: to hurt the pain.”
“Right. Of course. Well, then that makes sense, I guess." Open mouth, insert sand-covered foot.”
“And her sweet red lips on these lips of mineBurned like the ruby fire setIn the swinging lamp of a crimson shrine,Or the bleeding wounds of the pomegranate,Or the heart of the lotus drenched and wetWith the spilt-out blood of the rose-red wine.”
“Atlas smirked.”