I find your boots and crop a thrill,
And dream I was your steed,
Put through my paces as you will
And whipped until I bleed.
I wish your weight upon my back,
Your spurs against my side.
I long to bear you round the track,
To learn to serve with pride.
How sad that I who’d bridled be,
Who yearns for reins and bit,
Can only dream obsessively,
Ashamed to mention it.
If only you had eyes to see
Just what it is I wish to be!
Fabulous article. I had not realized the many dimensions of significance a collar represents, including the psychological. I hope that…
I've never tried it, but would happily do so if instructed to. It's healthy and it's got to taste better…
Dude, I don't know whether to be happy or sad I don't have your imagination.
Yes Miizz Geena. You are right as always.
This is wonderful, Heather! Thank you!
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Oh my dear poet nellie – my eyes see clearly what you desire. I did, afterall, ask you about the strength of your knees… I do think I’ll enjoy imagining you on all fours.
And I’ll enjoy imagining you as my rider Mizz Geena. OMG