and she never says goodbye when she leaves

Indigo ran off with lavender
to be more like her
feminine self tasting
petunias and cantelope
without having to share
sagging brooding blue's
iced bathwater chai

I can never seem to find
why she let herself all gloom
though rinds can be intimidating
and polen makes her sneeze
and her eyes itch and burn
orange when she sleeps

Never did she dream in
green after choking
on cloves cracking
like the fire in her
anxiety since
the age of periwinkle

Delicately her master
sharpens the yellow from
the back end but never
the ones she stood next
to in class photos

I've Gone Ornery
she scribbles on the cover
of a plucked flower
exhales a cleansing
breath and wonders aloud,

But what is petunia?

Overnight, graciously
I deliberatly
needed Indigo

but she's never there in the morning.