High Midnight

The Woman With No Name steps off the train
The station just closing for the night
Its platform creaking in the desert wind
Django approaches, in no mood for bullshit
But neither is she
They repair to the seedy bed-and-breakfast
Scribble aliases beneath the clerk's skeptical eye
Then head up to the bridle suite
There they remove their guns
Eyeing each other with wary lust and affection
The Woman notes that Django's already fairly solid
Takes him well in hand and strokes
Kissing his sun-cracked lips
Licking his stubbled jaw
Then shoves him backward on the bed
There she rides him good and hard
Well worth her weight in silver and gold
Her song heard at high midnight.