Heat

I am as dry
as the desert
in the last days of July

shooting blanks
grit — dust — sand
following you
in the footsteps
of another man

I want to turn my back
on your desert highway
set out across burning sands
for purple mountains in the distance
promise of a trackless land

cotton sheets
always neat are crumpled
wet — the scent
is more than sweat

our whitewashed walls
scorched with sighs
I almost feel
his calloused hands
your willing thighs

I want to turn my back
on your desert highway
set out across burning sands
for purple mountains in the distance
promise of a trackless land

Colt hangs heavy
steel against my hip
glint of brass — polished shells
checkered walnut grip

hammer’s click
acrid stench
cordite
spaced in between heartbeats

out here
sun will take your breath
this trickle down the spine
reminder of slow death

somewhere — a crevice
in a canyon
flowing cool and clear
wellspring of precious water
help a man to heal

wash blood
from his hands

I want to turn my back
on your desert highway
set out across burning sands
for purple mountains in the distance
...deep shade of an aspen stand