She lies on her side her curves a silhouette
so golden.
her hair so black, only lightend by the heat of the sun.
the sent of her hair is as if the dew of a honeysuckle lay on her sweet neck.
Her breast a soft brown and her lips you only dream to kiss.
Ah, she is beautiful here in the sun where she lies.
She is not like the incompetent girls, who's nakedness is only to hide the truth...
nor is she like the painted girls from home, where the rain only washes there beauty away.
She is of the west land and the sunlight; The west land of the people of the tribes---
where the people are one with the earth.
The wind blows here where she lies; the trees and the prairie grass: standing tall in great meadows they roll on the wind all the way from the Dakotas to Indiana.
I feel myself longing to be a part of the western wind and devoured by her land.
Under her knees I would be; the green grass of comfort...
under her smooth thighs I would give a soft touch to where she lies.
and her belly I would curess with a cool breeze as I lust to be that bead of sweat flickering in the sunlight.
Ah, she lies on her back, so beautiful; her frame arched toward the sun. As if a sacrifice to her God.
Oh, what I would sacrifice to be just one ray of light, Honored to lay touch to one inch of her body.
She lies there so still, skin so golden her hair flows down from her face...
her essence fills the air: a musky honeysuckle on a steady breeze
She has soft brown breast, and lips you only dream to kiss.
Phoenix
