Ol' Cow Hand (Reupload)

1865, rural Dallas.
His fingers blistered, his palms are callous.
 
She peers from a window, in her daily day dream.
The butter she churned, had long ago, ceased to be cream.  
 
That Ol' Cowboy though, with that animal, was so attentive.
She knew her thoughts were trouble, but that in itself, became incentive.
 
Husband (as usual), was on the North side, bailing hay, or chucking corn, or rustling cattle.
Getting his attention, was a frequent battle.
 
Anyway, That Ol' Cowboy, he oozed protection,
From his laboring arms, to his innocent erection.  
 
She understood, It's gets lonely here, on a Texas Dude Ranch.
Especially for a Freedman, when no one extends even the smallest olive branch.  
 
She wondered what it was like for him there,  
Was it basically still a plantation?
Like her, did he pass the nights with wistful masturbation?
 
She watched That Ol' Cowboy, toy with a rope, he'd been gripping.
From her kitchen, she imagined being that rope, until her thighs, could feel her dripping.
 
She watched him putting on his gloves, the sweat already pouring down his twilight brown skin.
She wondered what it would feel like, if she dared to let him in.
 
There again, thoughts crept back to her, about his past.
Did he have kids, or a wife, & where might he of seen them last?
 
Just then, she watched him pick up a spur,  
& she hovered over her basin, & pretended it was her.  
 
She closed her eyes, as he saddled his horse,  
& in her mind, she'd been straddled, but with greater the force.
 
She placed her hands over her mouth, when he pulled the rein,  
But those lonesome moans, a kitchens wall, couldn't contain.
 
She watched as the horse began to trot, then pace.
She became flush with a scarlets red, that painted her face.
 
By then That Ol' Cowboy brought that Mustang to a gait, & then a rack.
On her kitchen floor, her apron lost, & floor length  skirt up, signaled that she could no longer wait.
 
She lay on her kitchen floor, her quivering, legs still separated.
Her open vagina, for the first time, integrated.
 
And as she sat up, having pushed forth a seismic geyser,
That Ol Cow Hand rode off, he, or her husband being none the wiser.