We are in the yellow, love,
a couple of nudes in fluffy sweaters.
Sometimes, we are pale green, submissive,
a Stanley thermos with its movable handle.
We step through pines, apprehensive,
two pale dermides of serrano pepper.
As we attempt the sky, a poisonous surprise,
dart frog bellies above blue wheat.
For a time, while in indigo, we grasp grief,
our hands full of elderberry mist.
Swear to all you believe, our escape from violet, contempt,
half a dozen sweet seizures of macaroons.
Please explain us encased in red, aggressive,
a magical army of falling Circassian seeds.
When we arrive at rest so deep in the orange, keep interest,
depend upon a final sunstone pair of eyes growing in fox fur.