1. Pilgrims of St. Rouche

A painting by Thomas Worthington Whittredge

Bleeding green oil on burning purple.

Canvas congealing over the steeple inside. Our

landscapes of twisted ivy and asters.

Prayers every step of the way will follow.

On feathered wings, I flew anywhere

Your love allowed. Even if it was away from you, you

Endless soul of transcendentalist adventure.

Sky too vast to hide in, too small to hold you.

With birds and in fields, you taught me to dance.

Small, but detailed and strong.

Fingers dug rest from the dirt turning irises. I remember you

staining the river and forcing me to sing.

It forgot how to pray, my St. Rouche of love, until

blue bonnets broke in the prairie. Bloody

2. Red Bonnets

Blue bonnets broke in the prairie. Bloody

washing tarnishes their hue. Our twisting bodies

In the twilight glow streaks of

dishonesty. We rip innocence from petals—

apply it as blush.

Eyelashes torn from small mink, they push

under us where grass blades glisten with lust.

Mascara masks what is taken— beauty at the price of believing.

Through Moses’ torrid red sea you forced upon us—

scars. Bodies separate with the parting tides,

Your Xerxes-scented oils whip sanguinary waves—

intertwined—slavery, battered in dying Oceans’

price. Am I your product or your Price? Of

lonely princesses I love you the best. Your

throne of red bonnets burns at Midnight

3. A Loyal Affair

Throne of red bonnets burns at Midnight.

Tangled flames melt your tongue and Teeth

In the dust. Moonlight shook from unpolluted skies and Fractured.

Your sweet skin sings and singes. In a nest of Your

Arms, I am exiled, as you Hold

Life like a knife to my throat. We carved our Names

With forest’s bloomed dark glass, in the Soil.

You are a dress that I slip on. Your Purpose

Is pleasurable moments alone, you are not for rest, instead Leaving

Our crimson sins to flourish. I will forget you tomorrow, with all your Titles,

Burdens singing in the shadows of our bleeding silhouettes. As

Trapped with you I would be painted a fool every (h)our.

In leaving I am reduced to a phantom walking alone. Careful

weights of the ruling whispered with my ghostly guides.

4. Infestation

Weights of the ruling whispered with my ghostly guides.

A shiver-inducing spider slinks toward, then away,

Teasing my mouse-trap morals.

Soul screaming in skeletal torment. But

you speak again, urging me back to repose.

Are your strangling hands the cause of my hives? Is

pestering appropriate for teeth on my skin? Like flashes of heaven,

gnats cover my body when we are together.

Obsessive tendencies sway our encroached souls. Drunk,

not by red wine, not by thick smoke, but by small tunnels in wood.

innocent gazes I ask, which is the prey and which is the pest? Our

love, like a cool touch of water searing off cracking skin,

breaks rings, cracks mirrors and your lips on my neck. Bated—

you say it’s not cheating—stop wasting your breath

5. Migration

You say it’s not cheating—stop wasting your breath.

Wonder how easy your bodies in sheets mixed.

If I travel back, your face still paints every kiss because

I stomached the burning thought of

love with you. We are owned by others, my

butterflies and I. In other states on technicalities

migrations give us names that aren’t our own, even

when every day we have traveled together. I

all night sleep near you, breathe for you each day. I am

Starved for more fluttering touches together. A place not

for new desires, yet you touched her

light? Does it matter I’m with him? Your face is what I

spread into music when dancing in my dreams. I am

Wings. fly not without me, take me home