Heat       (for Sugar)

Poem: Heat by Linda Whittenberg.
Published by Manzanita Quarterly and Dying Can Wait.

Photograph - "Heading Home" by Teri Thomson Randall

Each time you threw me
was a price I paid
for my shameless lust.
I was an addict
for your opulent rippling rump,
comely curve of your neck.
My hand is imprinted
with satin of your nose,
wet kiss of lips lifting
apple from my palm.
It might have been the planet
of your one blue-gray eye
that drew me in—
a wild world
where hooves pound grassy plains
and storm clouds
gather above moving herds.
My impetuous Appaloosa mare,
nothing measures the moon now
like the pearl-red droplets of your heat.
No signal broadcasts the dangerous
drive to mate.
You are gone for the sake of good sense,
gone to someone
more able to handle your passions;
but I remember
when you jumped the gate
risking your life for love,
terror I felt that you could be lamed
by the cuts on your legs
and how your desire rallied
what was all but lost in me.