Purple says I am not what you are;

you glow but I am wise;

you ache but I will burn

in violet agony.

he laughs

I am myself, and greater yet

you wonder, but I yearn

with aubergine neglect

for all but what I seek;

And when I know,

you speak,

but I sight fluid things with lips stained

black-raspberry and currant wine.

Therefore

my calm is silk-spun dawn

& lavender cocoons

which coax you secretly awake

rebellious butterfly.

Purple says

his sorrow is hollowed ash

powdered grey bones, strewn with blossoms

pungent and sickly-sweet.

Pain, shards of amythest, glittering under bruised skin.