luis miguel poetry riding boots

Riding Boots

You always wear the nicest shoes.
Patent leather heels with beige soles
For the office,
Red-soled Louboutins for a night out;

Closed-toe, purple suede to match with
Your bright pleated skirt;
Peep toe, python, to indulge a lover in bed.

Whether in pumps, mules, or slingbacks,
The chic clicking of your footsteps
Thrills me like you can’t imagine.

But it’s in riding boots I love you most.

Riding boots.
Tall, fresh leather, fitted snugly and
Zipped closely, adroitly concealing all
But the most tantalizing sliver of the
Sumptuous argyle wool socks that tightly enfold
Your slender legs—an equestrian’s legs.

Riding boots.
Black, polished, exquisite, and glistening
Against the flavorful backdrop of your
Cream-colored knee patch breeches;
Swaying sensuously, rhythmically, as you
Sit, legs-crossed, atop the paddock fence—

Or resting augustly on stirrup irons while
You trot sublimely upon your gelding,
Your deep-tide show coat and velvet
Helmet making you the very symbol of
Unadulterated feminine noblesse.

I love you most in riding boots

Because then I behold your truest self.
Though clothed in the finest performance
Apparel money can buy, I see you
Uncovered, hidden no longer behind the
Oppressive guises and veneers imposed
By exacting authority.

You soar triumphant, defiant, over
Untouched fields, away from harsh
Society and its incessant expectations,
Toward the respite of golden pastures
And secret meadow brooks.

The grandeur of the arena,
The freedom of the backwoods,
The serenity of the hay barn—
Make you blossom more glamorously
Than canna lilies under summer sun.

But we both know you hold your head
Just an inch too high, hoping it’ll keep
Anyone from noticing the way your
Smile falls down on itself.

The dresses, the colors, the heels;
Your preference for the homespun ballads
Of yesteryear (which put today’s top forty
Hits to shame); your riveting artistic flair—

All combine to reveal you as a foreigner in this
Prosaic era. Not a mundane city girl who
Eschews original thoughts for tabloid fodder,
But something more rare than venda cycad:
A true country gentlewoman.

But a dame needs her gallant.
Is that unnameable sorrow you can’t shake
The product of a heart that pines for
Another of the same mold?

Is your aimfully aimless wandering inwardly
A search for your ideal trail partner?
Are the swanky clothes a subconscious lure,
Like the plumes of the long-tailed widowbird?

Contemplating you yields more questions
Than answers.
You’re a walking compendium of
Idiosyncrasies and contradictions—

The spirit of an eccentric, bespectacled old
Misanthrope hermetically packaged
In the vessel of a sprightly debutante.

The only thing I know about you
For certain is this:

With every layer of yours I unearth,
With every mystery I unravel,
With every quirk I catch,
With every embarrassing fantasy I discover—
I fall for you all over again.

Every day with you and of you
Is like my first time experiencing
Sunlit rain under blue sky
Beside a glimmering silver-faced lake.

You remind me of everything
I’ve always wanted but can never have;
Of a world I dreamed of belonging to,
But never will.

My lady,
We need each other to hold on to.
I feel you shiver, the coldness of your
Sullen heart exacerbated by the biting
Midnight frost of this wilderness.

Pull my heat into you.
Beneath the voyeuristic gaze  
Of a thousand eavesdropping stars, you
Can let your inner exhibitionist run wild.

Godiva in ecstasy,
Put on your best performance for our

Celestial audience. Let them watch with
Envy as you greedily ride your colt
At full gallop.

Shoot them a devilish grin while you
Raise your head high and bow yourself
Submissively for the mounting—
Like a mare under lights.

Don’t let my gait falter.
Spur me forward.
Dig your heels into my flank.
Make your bronc buck.

And when you’ve crossed the finish,
Let your body collapse into mine;
Let the palms of your deerskin gloves
Glide playfully over my shoulders and neck.

Then let sleep carry you away,
A sleep unlike any you’ve known before—
Deep. Tranquil. With dreams of wild horses
Roaming unfettered in endless spring;

Your frail head safely nestled in my chest,
Your riding boots softly grazing my skin.

Luis Miguel

Luis Miguel

Writer extraordinaire.
Luis Miguel

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