some cowboy poetry. kinda

Spilling

You lounge,

cowboy still,

lips parting

only

for the moment

you lift

that tall iced

tea from a long

pleated knee.

Leaving

me, never

comfortable

with the curve

of a vowel

or a hip,

to rattle on,

tongue fluttering

like a curtain in the wind

as the storm rolls

in. So come on

now, Cowboy.

Spill it.


HMMooreNiver