You'd look at lot prettier
if you'd smile, Honey.
His mouth carved out the words from under
the shade of a bumper thumb-swipe of hair
and he leaned into the wake of his breath that I'm sure
would have burned my eyes had they not
already been half-closed against the grit of the wind
and the sun flooding low and bright
behind the Absarokas. His hand slid
like a loose saddle around my thigh. Now I could tell
he settled for well.
You look mean, he hissed.