You won't recall that ride through the walnuts,

one fey afternoon in fall -- a city boy 

on penance in the country, I'd never ridden before. 

You were kind in a time of rough edges, 

shared your saddle along spice-scented rows. 

I swayed behind you, astride your palomino, 

never more aware of a girl.  Heat rose 

in places where the lines of us blurred, 

flared when my hand brushed your breast. 

I almost kissed you when you turned to talk,

wish I'd kissed you instead of still guessing 

just what you meant when you told me 

not to let go.

 
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