Volkswagen's red floor

Twisting, the corkscrew turns

churns

into the stoppers red core

while I politely listen

to the small talk chatter

from the pretty woman

lounging on my couch.

So sensually dressed

and very well spoken

but to me just a college dorm whore.

She endeavors to impress me

with her knowledge of

my bookcase collection

all the while expertly

positioning herself

in tiny red skirt

to impress me even more

so feigning attraction

I smile and raise an eyebrow

making her believe she has me

under her spell

while over her shoulder

I sneak a glance

at the closed red door

behind which lay my sacred sanctuary.

No photographs, art

sculptures, shelves or furnishing.

Taped sheet plastic the only décor

so that cream colored walls

and ivory shag carpet

cannot be marred, cannot be blemished

can leave no trace

of staining red gore.

The cork popped

and the bloody aroma

of sweet red wine

wafted up to arouse me.

Retrieving two glasses

clinking together like the sound

of her voice echoing

off my grinding white smile

she cannot perceive

the lions roar.

Coyly on she rambles

small talk, killing time

killing

“And what was your last name, Ted?”

“Bundy,” I answered while tilting the bottle

and like blood from the artery

did red pour.

Sitting close by her

we drank and grew warmer

talking of art, literature, love

and a graduation this summer.

Getting late, the clock struck three

her eyes became glassy

and her cheeks turned red

I wondered, should I kill her now

or wait until four?

Finally we embrace, begin with a kiss

and then like a Romeo

with no desire to follow my Juliet

I caress her neck before squeezing

and saying goodnight

I kiss her breathless red lips

but ever the gentleman I am

I give her a ride home

in plastic bags

in my Volkswagens

stained red floor.