Hot Pink

When I think pink

it's not pastel but hot,

the deep pink of hibiscus

or raspberries freshly ripe;

it edges into magenta.

When I think pink

it's a blush,

not apple-cheeked rosy, but

the flush of heightened lust,

the glow of sweet release.

Not lolly-pink

but intense —

not pale but passionate,

not soft but seductive,

not girly but femme fatale.

I think of the bright pink

of painted lips,

the dark pink

of that moist cavern

when my lips open.

I think of you.

I think to suffuse you

in deepest pink.

I think you will expand
in ecstasy, I think you'll dance.

 Prompt 25  for 'Poems in April' at 'imaginary garden with real toads' is the word 'pink'.