Synesthete

Now that you've told me,

I hope you see red in these words.

Why have that moment,

why lay in my bed,

why do any of it?

In a month, I'll forget my cinched heart.

In a month, in a year, in a decade, in a life,

will you read these words and see red?

Don't tell me, but I want to know.

Did you really want me to go?