Sloan

A gallon hat

Over a desiccated shadow

Spit and cuss

But swear you know how to treat a lady

Perhaps, tonight, harvest moon

When my breasts hang full and bright

We can lazily twist wild grass into braids

Lay deep in the earth’s embrace

Naked, as though we wished it would accept us back into its womb

I’ll slap away your calloused hands

Rolling my soft curves until you can barely handle it

You want to be denied

Stroked

Add your call to the nighttime symphony of crickets

You can almost taste it

Drown in it, like whiskey, poured straight

The cruelty of my fingers a chaser

You will be grateful for the weight of the saddle

For the prick of my spurs

A rodeo circus of depravity

Eight seconds, so you can qualify

Treat a woman right

Mr. Sloan

 

*All characters are fictional