It’s a wild fucking and bucking beast.
And I’m on its back.
I have thighs that are muscular, eyes for the trust in her and a whip for your cracking.
But it’s difficult to tame.
Still, I know it can sit, like a pretty little pet, though it won’t let you forget; it’s better, he’s better, she’s worse.
And it hurts.
In a paddock of fading curse, things gone askew and disgustingly terse, I would rather you pretend you can’t see me.
I’m out on a hill; riding like kill and I won’t be back until it’s gone.