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