Of Chincoteague and Longing

You have the makings
Of a mustang, long legs

And long neck. Veins
That bulge in the noontime,

Blue as sapphire under
Moonlight. Your auburn mane

Is a howling wind, peeling
Free the shingles from my

Roof. To taste
Your sweat, feel your leather,

I would swallow the sun.
Place my forehead

To my knees.
You are the mountain.

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