I bushwhacked ahead and he followed, tracking my spoor in the first fall snow. He touched the whole length of me before we kissed. For three days we rode water slides and drank colorful drinks and played games in a flashing arcade. Later, weeks later, he climbed onto the horse behind me, his hands like feathers on the creases of my hips. He wanted them to know a wrong had been righted.
You can tell when someone has googled his name, at least in the artist scene.
And another note, hidden under what was once the toilet seat, with a ring tied to a twig: I never had a thing for cowboys until I met my own. I asked a secret question and pulled my answer: He touched my collarbone with one finger.
Each morning he wakes up around 2 a.