the wind uncovered the
Indian fire rings...Sloane met
Woman of Medano Creek, apple,
Beatles white on the inside, Rita Coolidge
red on the outside,

two soft females grating
their sex into the night like
two ponderosa pines rubbing
together, Woman of Medano Creek
and Sloane, their curvy silhouettes falling
onto the fabric of my tent, Norwegian Wood,
I rubbed my ruged knob, the raven's distant cry
only heightened the sense of climax, Shawnee women
have their own notions of prosperity and sexual freedom,

Woman of Medano Creek
and Sloane exemplified me to
a challenge, I kind of like that because
the voyeur surfaced in me and their currents
of lovemaking allowed me to pull myself off at
the pace of a museum stroll, stimulating me, tempting
my exertion, coming hard, knowledge to me is the Rocky Mountain's greatest gift,

oblivious, I stepped from my tent,
the mirage teasing me with lustful visions,
I tipped my jerrican and doused myself with
cold water, the Indian fire rings now circled with
charcoal and bones,

in reality, there is no
reason not to believe I,
Sloane, did not fuck Woman
of Medano Creek last eve, remnants
of her tent stakes daring me to find my
way down into the canyon,

I, Sloane, put my
canoe into the water
and joined the Colorado
at the confluence, Norwegian
Wood, paddled into late afternoon,
a woman's shadow lengthened, the canyon
rim flared red, then lavender, a woman motioning
to me from atop Temptation Stone guided my heat,
standing at the foot of her bedroll, her tent stakes daring
me to find my way down, I kissed her ruged knob jumping flames from her charcoal softness below her navel fire ring, Woman of Medano Creek said, "the ore ran out at the turn
of the century, I saved you a nugget, Sloane..."


Copyright 2006 Sage Sweetwater, firebrand lesbian novelist, brainchild of Sage Sweetwater Creative Properties
http://home.earthlink.net/~sagesweetwater/ flagship of Stone Creek Woman