He Beckons Me To Come
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In my dream . . .
a beautiful white stallion is galloping
the rider is native . . . muscled and handsome
with flowing hair
feathers entwined
he beckons . . . come . . .
then, I am a native girl
wearing a soft beaded doe skin dress
my hair black as the night
we caress, caress
laying tangled
and I trace his battle scars
as he kisses my hair and lips
until dawn
when, weeping my loss . . . I fly away home
_______________________
December 16, 2015
Poetry/Canzone
Entered in the contest. One OF Your Best,
sponsor Rob Carmack Judged 12/2015
Sixth Place
Copyright © Constance La France | Year Posted 2015
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