my navajo man just rode into town
i forget where i met him
it doesnt matter now
hes sweet to me
when i ride him
its like riding the sweetest smoothest
scoot i'd imagine is out there today.
i hear the wind of the black hills whistling
when we kiss
and we do that for what seems like hours-
i feel the earth moving, the river flowing between
my thighs- he does this to me.
when he calls me and says
"can i come over?"
i rarely refuse.
i KNOW its like takin the bike out of the garage
for that long trip north to see the leaves turning
the waves crashing
the gulls crying out their song-
he does this to me.
i dont know his last name-
i dont ask-i dont care.
the joy of being in his arms for a sort while fills me
for hours and hours-
just like that trip north..
you take your gloves off-sit on down in the most
and remember how fine the world seemed as you strip
off your boots; kicking them aside as you crack open a cold
the second he kisses me for the first time
were gone-its a trip to the mountains; a run up a long winding road.
he knows how and where to touch me
hes considerate and gentle
rough when he needs to be.
he does this to me-and for me.
hes a full blood navaho man.
he wears his hair short and asks nothing of me
my reciprocation of passion between us
and like bike and owner
we understand one another
needs no wrenching
its perfect-well oiled and lubricated
this he does for me
i appreciate it
he knows this
and gives it back ten-fold.
he ALWAYS leaves smiling-
and i know he'll be back.
like the scoot in the garage-ever patient for the next run-
it too knows i'll return
and we'll ride, ride, ride
until we're exhausted
aint playin' no cowboys and indians here-
this is about the freedom to express
feelings of passion,
and expressing our needs.
this we do for each other.
i wouldnt trade this model in for any other one.
blooze56 june22 2004 email@example.com