Her figure is fragile…..

cowpuncher Uncategorized

I press my hands against the gentle skin of her inner thigh, the thin satin slides gently southward and slips like a gentle drape in a breeze, the skin is soft and pale. I can smell her gently as the wind blows through the window, I follow the sign up the side of the mountain. Where is she? She is elusive and teasing. She is as fragile as I am and yet stronger and ready to tear my flesh apart, tear my heart from my chest. I can feel her in my bones. Her eyes pierce me in my dreams. Who is she to you? You have seen her in visions. Have we all forgotten the wild? Those terrible eyes in the night. There is no predator after you, the only predator in your mind is fear, imagination. I feel my hands tremble as they work towards her navel, she can smell my anticipation. I watch the signs. I watch the peaks. At any moment we turn on each other and rip out each other guts, the visceral carnage splayed out on a tapestry of light.

She is yours. We have all chased her. Her sex is obligatory. She is a he. He is a she. We have all chased.

I hear her whisper sweet nothings in my ear. Pillow talk. I knew her as a child. I see her in various forms. She is a bear. An emotion. A tree. The wind in the burnt out forest caused by the hands of ignorant men.

I feel her in my hands every day. I massage her as I sit in a chair, I play her in front of people. She is a dream, a smell that I have never smelled, a thirst that will never be quenched.  If you have ever wondered what a musician does, it is the same thing that you do; try to conquer a feeling, try to capture a moment.

When will you give in. What have you got to lose?

I love you,