ring of truth


slid out of linen into
faded 501’s and watched
half of her unconscious smile
on pillow above lone breast
escaping quilt where sleep
moved breathing.

gathered trails of us,
quick cast off things
strewn across the floor.
draped hers on chairback,
double taked as something fell
from lady wranglers.

the magic died in gold
and last nights rodeo dimmed
as I laid it on her sideboard
near sauza conmemorativo and curled
lime peels of emptiness,
in a spill of rough sea salt.

I stepped into boots, into bathroom,
wrote words in soap on my reflection
as last nights bucking came again.
she’d screamed for rougher ride.
for god three times tequilla lipped.
slipped deep away into fading affirmative hiss.

no looks back, out the door
to the rocket I rode in on
and its quiet four cylinder song.
once again I became the wind.
my music had faltered a bit
but would wander on.


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