Spanish moss

draping off her pirate arms

shrouded by cerulean and scarlet,

Louisa mirrors some priestess swamp beast

dressed in her chamomile bouqueted graduation gown

here, wet explodes in four southern directions,

and vernacular seeps ripe with ritual,

positively irrigating those inevitable French kisses

thus inspired,

she pulls over and

throws it into park,

certain the fuse will stay burning,

front seat

subterranean Blind Creek

Louisiana gas stacks searing

“hey, Raphael, green gets pretty heavy here”

“yea, sweet momma, green sure do”

here at this hallowed rest stop

where lovers commence to drip

then somehow solidify,

an everlasting fusion forever forms,

layer ontop layer,

eternal exactitude,

no exit

thus, once humid with each other,

Green Louisa

melts back into her changeling self

where another Raphael’s welcome

to ride along,

where another maiden’s voyage

begins, then ends,

and surely begins again