Verse 8
The cowboy and Patricia held each other on a bed half-clothed and embarrassed. A sporadic Doppler boom of a passing truck and the stomping of steel of a late-night reveler outside marked the passage of time for them. With the awkwardness of adolescents, they undressed without seeming to know what was at the end. Neither of them spoke about what was happening. Their sentiments had been lost and tucked in a bituminous bedrock of the psyche that required steady heat and pressure to expose their glow to each other.
Patricia needed him. She would be the aggressor. She was the one slowly dying with a lonely heart that ached for death. She struggled with his belt, and he feigned resistance, and she applied more effort to topple his will and make him consent through acquiescence. His bel
