Spanish moss

draping from her pirate arms

shrouded by cerulean and scarlet,

Louisa mirrors some priestess swamp beast

dressed in her chamomile bouqueted graduation gown

down here, wet explodes in countless southern directions

and vernacular seeps ripe with ritual,

positively irrigating his inevitable French kisses

thus inspired

they pull over and

she throws it into park,

certain their fuse’ll 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 along this hallowed rest stop

where lovers commence to drip

then somehow solidify,

an everlasting fusion endlessly forms,

layer ontop layer,

eternal exactitude,

no exit

and so once humidified with each other,

Green Louisa

melts back into her changeling self,

welcoming another Raphael to ride along,

signaling another maiden’s voyage

to begin then end,

and surely begin again