You have such a subtle, neutral scent,
Like a show-pony before she’s ridden hard,
Before good use turns her breathing scant
And she makes a wanton break-out toward the stars
That leaves the sturdy fencepost rent.
Cleanly we begin, easy in our reins and chaps,
Taking the wide acreage at a simple cant
Until the rocking saddle slaps.
Then I cleave to you and cleave in twain
The sweaty mystery of your sex;
Molten mists of joy and pain inextricably mix.
Raucous across the finish line,
We pant and pause and smell as one
To what rank stench our hard riding’s come.