A sudden cold wind sweeps over the hill. I grit my teeth. My legs ache, then give way. And I drop to my knees. My fingers scratch at the years of dirt caked on the tombstone. What was oscured becomes visible. The ghostly scrawl of a lost long name.

W E S L E Y.  H A R R I N G T O N.

My friend.

A sudden darkness falls upon the tombstone. Someone--or something--stands above me. I do not lift myself up. I do not raise my eyes. I remain on my brittle knees, hands to the earth. Bowed and beaten. It's time for a reckoning.

"I been a rough man," I whisper.

If I was expectin' a reply, I do not get one.

"A rough man, livin' them rough man ways."

Winds whip into a frenzy. Dust and dirt swirl in the air, filling my mouth, filling my nose, filling my lungs. I spit at the ground, as if expellin' the sins of my life.

"I'm a rough man!" I offer one last defiant time.

Then silence. And calm.

And the click of a six shooter, readying itself.

You see me, sweetness.
Kid in a candy store.
Or Christmas morning.
Gifts spread on the floor.

Hands hold you close.
Lips touch your ear.
Cry if you can't help it.
You got nothing to fear.

My desire is wild.
A free running steed.
Whisper to me.
Take what you need.

Could go on about Roses.
Red petals color the bed.
But your body tells me.
Time to talk has ended. 

Say, release the beast.
Don't hold off the crazy.
Take what you want.
​Until the dawn's hazy.