without title.

Green as blood,
repugnant pink,
sophist blue—blueish?
Silk-soot-shine,
grey as wanting eyes.
Red is just what it is:
love, loathing, fast cars.
Heat as in indigo,
maroon marine and
sea of seas of high water.
Tan, because it becomes you
and your ruby smile.
Lame as lime, your
arguments won’t sway me
or my magenta cravings.
Parallel lavender,
ivory or white, I doubt
my colours and your claims,
damn, damn, damn down
under my pocketful of lies.
And indifferent cyan
—just for kicks.