Your catholic habit escapes
like black rabbits out the gate.

They ruffle the pale minty grasses.
Your gaze slithers up my calves.

It makes me shed like a yellow boa.
Skin as thin as paper falls below on sandy loam.

You sever my head on blood-tarnished terrain;
reduce me to golden remains.

An obsidian rabbit’s fate would be another,
for your discerning eyes fear form before color.