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.