Breaking Horses

You are getting closer.
I hear the crunch of sand
and the skitter of stones beneath your
boots. The scent of tanned leather stings
my nostrils and fingers of steel butterflies
inflict fresh flesh wounds.
Your feathered crop gently brushes my shivering
shoulders, it floats over proud bones luring me
to the killing fields.
With no where to hide nothing can save me.
You have always known how to break wild horses.



Today  I threw wide

those carved doors that hold

my souvenirs.

The scent of sandal wood

filled the air and I thought

of you.

Tonight I will walk down

to the shore where the sky  is

a marvel of constellations,

the waves  topped with

frothy champagne.

The air is all sea lions and

the sky a silvery mirth.

I could stay here  for the

winter among the honey cake

dunes and  not think of you

at all.




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