Her painted pony

Her painted pony

You girl,
you singing from your Cherokee hymnal,
hymen split astride his princely pole,
ride him like only country girls know.
Join in his descant,
“Amazing, Grace”
grunted between quick gasps.
Turn him over to ride his ass,
a strapped on rod prodding your prize.
No side saddle needed for you, girl.

Yes, you girl,
slapping his moans to an age-old beat,
making him beg on his knees
to capture your fly on his sticky tongue,
an orchid's orgasmic need.

© Kåre Enga 2010-05-04 [167.96]

Note: written in Montana remembering a conversation long ago in Tulsa, Oklahoma, land of the Cherokee and the beloved painted pony.