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In my mind there’s a lush pasture, where clove and alfalfa grow. There you dance in the shadows, beneath tall oaks in a row. I envision the curve of your neck, as you bend your head to graze. White painted spots on bay sheen, creating a bold surfaced maze. I feel the softness of your muzzle brushing gently against my face. As I tighten the saddle’s cinch, you stand relaxed in place. Mounting your stallion-strong back, I feel your muscles begin to tense; anxious for our adventurous trek into the timberland dense. The sound of your hooves is music, setting my lonesome soul free. The scent of your hide is perfume, inhaled now only in memory.
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