Fuse the Sun

Such tropical fuchsia: the webs of love. My exotic flower:
Fuse the pollen; but such cactus water: barely enough.
We muse erotic purple; and nibble apricots. My mind—a
Butterfly—a mystic fruit; thus, I drift. But depth the
Soul—a wheel of color, pleading my return. Every tone, 
A partial grey; and every song, a moment captured. My
Fuchsia apple—a passion rich; and jasper grapes, a
Woman’s smile. We trek—an ivory grove; and kneel—an
Aqua pond. Here’s a plum, my heart: fashion tears; for
Every thought, a typhoon; and every wave, a monsoon.
We fashion teal-blue; and dance, orange-red; and so much—
To touch the wind; but evermore, a ritual; and evermore,
A prayer; thus, the light, a motion fair. Such tropical
Fuchsia: the webs of love. My exotic flower, fuse the sun.