For the Girl in the Grove

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 I'm still guessing
just what you meant when you told me 
not to let go.