My Pistol

A poem about how cowboy's love their guns.

I'd like to see you 
wear my gun for a day,
to feel its weight
on your feminine hip. 

I'd so enjoy watching 
your elegant fingers
cocking the hammer
and squeezing the grip. 

Would you hide it away, 
tucked under your waistband
only drawn out 
at necessity's call?

Or would you wear it out loose
slung low in its holster
and swagger down main street
in plain view of all?

Would your eyes burn with passion
in heat of the moment
when weapon is drawn out
and put to its use?

Would opponent's limp body
give you grim pleasure
when unloaded bullets
have done their abuse?

I'd so love to see you
wear my gun for a day
just so you'd know
what stirs in my head.

When the barrel glows hot
and bullets are flying
and bodies are writhing
from stinging hot lead. 

The End

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