i reckon so, if the good lord's willin

ah the lure of the brash big-dicked cowboy.
how he can make a gay boy's heart flutter.
how he can make a gay boy's dick hard in
an instant, spurt cum in less than a minute.
the brash big-dicked cowboy is down
by the pond, the clear-water one,
where the cows don't drink.
the brash big-dicked cowboy is washing
himself off in the cool clear water.
the brash big-dicked cowboy is naked
when the gay boy spies him,
and the gay boy's dick goes instantly hard.
the gay boy stands behind a tree
and stares at the brash naked big-dicked cowboy.
the gay boy whines softly, kinda
whimpers, as the brash naked big-dicked cowboy
goes right on washing himself.
soon, real soon,
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy notices
that he's being observed.
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy speaks:
"get right over here, you!" he
says to the gay boy.
the gay boy obeys.
the gay boy sucks off the brash naked big-dicked cowboy.
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy tries to
return the favor, but the gay boy has
already spurted his cum, and
it floats in a slimy little pool on
top of the pond.
they both stare at it, nod with understanding,
and kiss each other on the lips.
things like this happen everyday.
things like this
make the rapid-fire assault of
targeted munition sites
a pea-popping pleasure,
a wealth of historical evidence
quickly demonstrable in the
annals of mercury-powered time.
"you're a good-looking boy,"
the brash naked big-dicked cowboy says
to the sweetly sexy gay boy.
"i think we should get ourselves in that
there bunkhouse right now, and pursue this
here matter."
whimpers and screams are often the
voice of
cowpoke love.

--Carl Miller Daniels (This poem also appears in my book Saline, published by Interior Noise Press in 2014, and currently available at Amazon.)