2017 | Oil paint on canvas | 48 x 36 inches

He comes over straight after a family dinner and his mouth tastes like beef and tomato sauce. I offer him water, but he declines. “I’m only thirsty for you,” he says, so earnestly that it’s a bit strange. I decide I won’t let him use tongue until his mouth starts tasting better, so I keep my lips pursed. He takes the hint. His lips are so thin…

Trees blush more deeply than we can — with leaves the color of the inside             of leaves — if foliage were as red-blooded as five o’clock                         shadow — and if foliage, too, were to hold the inclination to bear the body inside out, to wear skin and bones             — down to skin and bones, to be simply muscle…