If you were the prairie
and I was grass
married to your skin,
mustang and antelope
would pound me into you
as they run wild over your body,
while the occasional fire,
born of lightning-jeweled
nights of merriment,
burned me to ashes.
And though you'd feign sleep
as your body cooled,
your smile,
mottled with my black remains,
would expose your attraction
to tumbleweed rambles
and dust devil flings.