It’s been one year.
One year that I’ve lived in your valley along the Clark Fork river, one year that I’ve lived in the West, one year that I’ve hiked up my skirt for your hillsides.
That’s a long courtship by my standards. Usually the caveats, bad habits and dirty laundry cut into the open by now.
Instead, you continue to woo me.
You arch your back of rock, pull me into your canyon veins, and peel me naked.