If I lived in the Old West
I would have a whiskey,
a revolver and a horse
but I would not have nostalgia
for the Old West,
especially around doctors with only
knives and fire for operations,
a cold and drafty cabin
and travel through Indian territory.
I can almost smell nostalgia,
something like oat and honey bread,
the drying of the crimson leaves and
the musky perfume of your soft skin.
Despite the layoffs, the aches of age,
and the ragged ripples of the road,
I'll pose with you for a sepia print.
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