where the writers are
Washita Lovechild


I dodge love's arrows easily

as they shower me.

I reach up and catch em,                                  

toss each in my                                    

back pocket.                                                   


My coyotes feast on the hearts of         

pretty enemies                                                   

who can't resist this                                         

Indian peach,                                                   

soft and enticing,                                              

luscious to the touch.                                        


I dare em                                                                                                         

Take a bite.

Peel away my skin

with your teeth.

But this meat is

much darker on the inside.


They lick the juice

from their fingers,

and hold their breath

for more, but

I take the next bite.


Hungry boys?

Hand me my knife.

Saddle my pony.

Where's my make-up bag?

I'll cross the river

for our handsome dinner.


Saddle up Cowboy!

Take a ride on my

0ne-eyed war pony.

It's a bumpy ride,

hard and fast-

the Kind I like.


Scoot closer, cowboy!

My saddle's made for one.

Dig your paws deep in my front pockets.

Let your fingers cup my hip bones,

thumbs round my back.

Hold on tight 

and love it!


But beware the sting

of my slapping braids,

and the tip of my

heart-carving Bowie!