watching me change colors
like the lights of a calliope
she says she might like it
if I weren't this shade of red
sometimes.
red is the marrow of my bones.
searching through my secrets
like a vicar in a chamber
she intimates that she might
find me more attractive if I weren't
from time to time this shade of blue.
blue is my returning blood.
she says I pose a danger
to myself and all around
when like a clanging station light
I flash a warning yellow cutting
through the endless night.
yellow is the fire in my soul.
after many failed attempts
to tame the verdant jungle
edging always toward her
manicured back yard she says
don't photosynthesize.
green is the vine that tethers me to earth.