How the West was Tamed

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People say I’ve been scarce.
I’ll admit my scarcity
like the sinner
I am.
I’m scarce because
my mind is flooded
with you;
your quick heart beats near mine,
resounding
in my ears
like a flat-run distance–
miles and miles
of sunset
empty horizen
waiting to be written on.
Your longing
knows no westwardly limits,
what you demand of me is
everything,
all or nothing.
You are a wild west.
And I’m wild with want of you.

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