A timely dance ‘fore we’re last curled.
While riding on my upper back, she whispers that she wants a Peloton.
No one will threaten her there.
Even when near death they still will not trust him.
I follow the footrace to the sun-washed crest.
And moon fizz in Coeur d’Alene.
Sits in his rain scented square.
A god caped with a Fleur-de-lis.
Yours is a soul with a brand.
The oldest and most persistent archetypes gnaw at us.