Slick copper; sticky and smooth to the touch. The hand trails through it, leaving tracks of salty, metallic red where fingers spread. It drops so pure, so rose red, in curcular spatters, already coagulating, held in tight circles, turning darker red, to dull brown and black.
Draw it along with a fingertip; turn it into a smile with eyes, and leave the face painted on the cold, white, smooth squares of the wall, watch the collected points slowly drip down in comet-trails of darkening red. Pink, vibrant heart red dulling to brown and black as it dries, forming the color of the rose on the squares of porciline.
Short one today, but that's c'os I feel icky.