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Game of Horse

by Curt Allday

Much like the feeling of a cigarette at the dawn of morning
there were ropes bent into various knots,
there were relations in precarious positions,

all wrapping tightly so, rightly so
around my bulging torso while
steam rose from huffing, sweaty nostrils
as they snorted and swayed and
their sensual hides moved
this way and that
back and forth
as some ungodly scent nibbled away at a dewy mist
leaving only dried blood and urine
staining the autumn leaves with
their rituals,

their nights' most overdue festivities

the bottles were empty and clothes scattered around
a cluster of barns, apartments, lofts, office buildings
a staircase,
it didnt seem to matter
each one had a look, each one had an image of me
in their mind
their cathartic reflections exorcised from an ancient skull
radiating in chaotic drift with an insatiable list of demands

each yank and pull upon a beige comforter composed of
gyrating monstrous entanglements, a
betrayal etched in a spectrum of colors
pollinating the grains of a forgotten pasture
of late nights and long mornings

each limb was snug tight
the tug of each rope like the tug of their hair
as they climaxed in a musty hotel room
yelling profanities and unloading
infinite permutations of
sighs
coughs
grunts
ecstasy

the wine was scattered, the condoms were scattered, the emotions were scattered,
the windows were shattered, the lamps were shattered, the televisions were shattered
memories, tokens, pick up lines, cheap moves, cheap risks, cheap cheap cheap
cheapness tatooed on their lower backs as
in the background their melodies were moaning, gagging while
bloodshot eyes gazed at the torn screen door
left wide open
while the clothes
began to the swim to the surface
the pools of alcohol too much to bare

it was the feeling of taking their hips
gripping them with massive swipes
like a tornado touching the ground
much the same way, they were here

and then gone

every last one i'd known and loved
gone
resonated in old cowboy songs
much like a hangover or a meaningless embrace,
a strong, vengeful yank
like my taut arms gripping smoldering flames
as each splintered ankle
faltered

gave way for love

07/28/2007

Author's Note: Sex became casual in the midst of love, much like being pulled apart by four horsemen

Posted on 07/28/2007
Copyright © 2022 Curt Allday

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