you weren't my first woman but you were the first man with a heart down there

i was walking for months
drinking stale water and chewing prickly paw pads
i dreamt you were a cowboy and i was your mare
i dreamt you were a farmer and i was your field

i opened my eyes into the red hemorrhage of the sunset
and i dreamt you were falling on me
the weight of your body indelible
even as the day shed its skin and night took up her throne

i met you in a carnival for the brokenhearted
the seen too much/been too long gone
the scene was too much for us and i covered you in my rags
donned the sequins and fringes and gave my body over to the crowd
and they took everything you couldn't offer them off of me

and left me to die behind a dune.
but i'm not dead yet
and for the minute i spent striking it rich on the gold in your green eyes
i have hauled harrow after harrow across the dry acres of my mind
uncovering untold treasure and it really
doesn't matter that it was you, that you were, or if you are

immaterial

maybe my sacrifice birthed these treasured steps on broken ankles
maybe i bowed my eyes and submitted in your stead
so i could become a man in the desert with a stick
leaving cairns in my wake and shining secrets with the tattered cloak
still seeding the sands with wayward rhinestones.