Go ahead pilgrim,
go ahead,
make love
to the horse
I rode in on.
You will like the way she bucks,
how her stained saddle rides,
the feel of her flesh
against your taut thighs.

I will never forget
our crossing near El Paso.
Or the time
she reared up
in Amarillo.
Tucson sure fascinated
them bandits
chasing us
for gold.

We rode like demons
constantly
through the desert,
tracing
the tail of the moon
on petroglyphs.

And she knows,
she knows deep inside
her wholesome *****,
she will never forget,
she will never forget
her lonesome rider.

This wearied lonesome rider
has finally,
has finally come home.