If you were the prairie
and I was grass,
married to your skin,
mustang and antelope
would press me into you
as they run wild over your body,
the occasional fire,
born of lightning-gay
nights of merriment
would burn me to ashes.
And though you'd feign sleep
as your body cooled,
your smile,
mottled with my black remains,
would reveal your desire
for the Gypsy dust devil seed.