A/N: Although I doubt anyone cares, this is not about "Barry", this is about a different man ^-^

My American

Ambling curiously, remarking
The Tone of your Voice is as lovely
As your salt-and-pepper hair…
Young eyes
Peering of experience, and even if it was so!
The American-
Seeming Beauty…

~ I have to cease this
comparison, tho' I fear I
never will ~

The twisted thistle
And trodden sand built into stone
Tile cracked under the
Weight of not knowing
Or, yet, his old-and-young
Prompting. Knowing. We had been
Wandering for some time,
Then, the
Cattle trails of Kansas and
The uprooted Prairie grasses
Parting way, if not: we
Had the
Misfortune to be whelped
Sans tradition,
Yet the whooping West and
You, sun-faded violet
And some
Constant eyes.

My American.

The trails are roads now or nothing-at-all
Your rough voice, shoddy
And sensual from calling
To horses and bulls, the
Soft milkweed-down against
Your unshaven face, which is
Weather worn.

Beneath me the floor is
Split into halves and the
Clover is sorted thru' by
Chattering sparrows, where the
Sun is now. You, regardless
Of any Western
Attire, of any Past,
Affirm that the lack of
Can be lovely as

Ambling happily towards
You, a Night
In Dodge:

~ My American ~