flowers 1964
After Andy Warhol

the girl i loved's name was orange.
we ate flowers made of fuchsia.
biting the walls, they turned primrose.
our favorite planet was red.
the morning turned the house white.

the girl i loved's name was fuchsia.
we hated flowers, all of them primrose.
plucking them until our fingers were red.
the stems of the flowers died white.
in the kitchen we split an orange.

the girl i loved's name was primrose.
we dyed each other in rivers, came out red.
the inside of apples is white
& so is the under belly of an orange. 
running away we called all the towns fuchsia.

the girl i loved's name was red.
she liked strawberries unripe & white.
we dipped our fingers in sunrise orange 
& swallowed it; the sky tasted fuchsia. 
she told me life's not a primrose.

the girl i loved's name was white.
why didn't she like the color orange?
she would paint canvases entirely fuchsia.
undressing me, she'd laugh you're so primrose.
we'd bite off the other's lips, kiss red.