when I ride give
me not a saddle
but the force of
blood-filled muscles
moving against
my thighs and salt-
wet hair rubbing
moist threads from jeans
let me not ride to
save myself from
walking but to
fill with wind and
thunder as we
gallop pressed so
close hooves and
breath are mine
Thank you to the editor of Something Like Homesickness for first publishing this poem. Thank you N. Garvin for your beautiful photo of Charly.
Hey, this is really an excellent poem. I love it.
PT
Beautiful!
Thank you so much. My friend’s photo/horse really captured it.
Thank you.