Succour
I always took you as succour
Don’t ask why
just help Like the stain of wine on the napkin
I scattered
But I am always dark red
thick, sour, wet
Like marbles thrown on the stone pavement
I scattered
colourful, childish, bright Like old family photographs ending up in second-hand bookshops
I scattered
noble, old and a bit tearful What you call heart cannot be tidied up like a bag/purse