Her Leprracon
Your bare bottom pounds as you glide
across the cloven countryside,
tresses lifting, buoyant breasts,
your stallion savages his breaths.
Pressing knees, you turn him wide,
Pull up below the rivers bridge.
You let him drink low and long
You sing to him a wild song
You lie on moss to bid him see
your treasure space once meant for me.
Withers shining, smoothed by sweat
perfumed where your bodies met,
he throws his head then steps away.
You think of something cruel to say
though not of him, your muscled pet
but of me, below the rivers bridge.
You step to him as if on air
You touch him with a lover’s care
You climb again, pull tight the reins
Then release your grip to run again.
Copyright © John Ozemko | Year Posted 2023
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