“Could have been a narrative poem, but attention spans and patience aren’t what they were.”
River Blue 2022
I lean on a faithful fence post watching dust obscure the groom as he goes further down the lane. He’s a grandfather, but you can’t tell it by his stride.
Instinct turns my head toward you, your quiet footsteps walking through the horse’s exercise pasture.
That glide of yours tells the world you don’t give damn. At the same time you walk as if you don’t want to crush the squirrel tail grass. I hide my grin.
Such a contradiction you are.
“What did he have to say about me today?”
You give me that sideways smile when you get close and pull my back against you through the gap in the fence.
“Only one ‘green horn’ and one ‘son of a bitch’ when Constantine nearly penned you against the fence. That’s an improvement, young cowboy.
Buck only curses when you’re in danger.
And Constantine…he’s just putting you
through your paces.”
I say too much, looking back at you, hoping you’ll hush me with kisses. You don’t go for my mouth;
I feel you breathe in the curve of my neck,
undeterred by the grit and heat of the day
hiding beneath my hair.
Hands around my waist, you jerk me harder against your big body and make that desperate sound in the back of your throat.
I latch onto your lips like a summer plum. Leading you by our deepening kiss, I slide the gate open.
With nothing between us now, you thread your fingers though my belt loops and pull me up your body.
“Damn, you’re strong,” I growl as I bite down on that spot beneath your ear. Another guttural moan, and I melt all over you. The only thing that could draw your attention away is the stealthy approach of my horse.
“Is he jealous? Overprotective?”
“I called him over with a hand signal.”
My massive stallion does something
he only did for my grandmother when he wasn’t saddled up:
He stretches his front legs far in front of his chest, lowering his impressive height to make it easier for this novice rider to mount up.
“What’s he doing?”
You bite your lip, and I soothe it
with my tongue.
“He’s showing you a sign of love and respect.”
I tug on a tuft of mane to show you
it doesn’t hurt him. You climb up and I slide
in front of you.
After years together, a slight tightening of my legs, and my horse knows to veer right and follow a path through tall reeds that leads to a slow moving bend in the Blackfoot river.
Thunder rolls in the distance, so everything below waits still and quiet in anticipation: Insects aren’t orchestrating their wings. Birds aren’t trilling, and trout aren’t jumping.
We’re moving slowly in this absinthe impressionist haze. I lie back against you, nothing between your hands and my skin but thin cotton. My zipper is loud when you pull it down and ease your right hand south.
You expertly utilize the movement beneath us, then slide that left hand up between a Fleetwood Mac tank and my abdomen until you reach the softness that makes me gasp. Colors become high definition vivid. Leaves breathe with us. The slow rush of the river transforms into a choir. You bring me to an ultimate conclusion, but not the final one by far. You take your time when you get your hands on me.
With a swing of my leg and a twist of my upper body, I’m now facing you with my thighs resting on yours. “I owe you, cowboy…”
I wake with bits of sky peeking through a delicate leafy roof of willow…its longest tendrils lazily drifting in the river’s current. My clothes are on a
Only one set of footprints has left the river leading to this solitary shelter. There’s no sign that you’ve been rolling in the tall, cool grass with me. I get dressed and pull my flask from the back pocket of my jeans.
These recurring dreams are stoning me in my sleep. I should have bruises. Grey Goose and I hide beneath the tender willow’s jade ball gown and wait for a wondrous hand to hang stars on the universe’s expansive rigging.
© River Blue 2022