Bluebird had a tongue that tasted of bluebells, a sweet lick of melancholy that would make you sick.

My dear Nicolette as my alter, Bluebird.

Self and Bluebird

Lover pulls Bluebird along by a ribbon/tumour, a sulking brimstone in the Spring river. But Blue, sweet Blue, Lover can not hold melodies like you can.

Self portraits of my human body and my alter. Thank you Nicolette for trusting me endlessly and Jess for assisting.