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We grew into our legs, unfolded
steaming in cool blackness
while the moon gazed in wonder
and the distant stars blinked.
It was a birth of sorts, reversed,
wild colt hearts beating
one shared thunder,
and the storm was our mother
while love was the milk.
And you were beautiful, I remember,
staring soft-eyed and silent, learning
your body through the whispers
of drum-tight skin. This is
me, and you ... we were born
like this, every time, without human
defenses or the shame tailored clothes.

Do you remember any of it now,
so broken to your saddle, blanketed
and stabled, so trained by the whip?
Are there ever nights when the wind
moans low like I did, and your thoughts
slide out into darkness, out of their
buttons and pockets, and into a kiss?
This was me and you...
before fence lines were acceptable
and loving you was as natural
as biting the bit.