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Rock Faces Woman Love and Wheelbarrows

I love a woman with a wheelbarrow.

Her strong brown arms, maybe gardener tanned

are as much sculpture as anatomy.

I love how she puts her load

Ahead of her, pushing it

to do her bidding.

I love a woman with a wheelbarrow.

 

I love a woman on horseback.

The voluptuous stack of buttocks

Stitch the air with a sweet sashay

How a woman holds a mare with her knees

How a mare holds a woman with her scent,

How I hold them both in my gaze.

I love a woman on horseback.

 

I love a woman on a rock face.

Arms stretched, fingers gripping small lips of stone,

Toes attentive to the dance that follows.

She climbs as much in mind as in body

She dwells as much in molecule as in being.

Serenity follows the ghosts of chalk.

I love a woman on a rock face.

 

I love a rock face challenging the woman.

First impressions of peril didn’t work

She trusted a deeper call and attended, now

Its rough face is drunk on her perspiration,

It taunts her temerity as she drags a leg

Across one precipice and on to a ledge.

I love a woman on a rock face.

 

I love a horse in motion with the woman,

The fine syncopation of arms and legs

A parallel of tails to flow in the back draft.

How a bounce of stride translates

Into a bounce of bodies and sky

How the pair melts into a single action.

I love a woman on horseback.

 

I love the wheelbarrow that helps the woman.

How it leverages its load with ease, offers

a red steel bucket to brighten the chore.

Her gloved hands hold the hickory handles

like a bird grasping a branch.  Even

the discreet little tire rises strong.

I love a woman with a wheelbarrow.


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