Not-So-Perfect Ride

The rough saddle creaks as I spring,
And land akimbo in the drenching dew.
I stare deep into the brilliant eyes
Of my mischievous ride who withdrew,
Now laughing at my sorry state.

Later seated atop this muscular mass
Pulsating rhythmically underneath me,
I fight to stay in charge of him,
Who would rather be wild and free,
Racing the rushing wind that plays with us.

Light vibrating through the breaks in the trees,
Distracting me for just long enough,
My dappled streak connects me with a branch
Directly to my soft tissue, air wooshing out in a huff,
As I go sailing backwards, flailing in fright.

Once I catch those which had left me,
Mainly my breath and my horse,
I slap his foamy fleshy flank to show who's boss,
Mounting yet again to finish my course,
The taste of sweet revenge not too far distant.

Warning signals flare in my mind,
As my body feels a change in his gate.
No longer are we flowing in sync,
Our muscles relaxed and serenely sedate,
But my rear roughly slaps the saddle, chaffing my skin.

Stiff and awkward as I dismount from my hellish ride,
Not even bothering to take proper care of Streak,
I hobble on my limbs to grab a refreshing ice pack,
As my physical and mental agony is at its peak,
My riding pants crusty from sun-dried blood and sweat.

Never again do I want to ride that horse.
Though a dainty dapple, he reeks of haughtiness,
Proud to never be fully broken to submission.
I will no longer deal with this unending stress,
And will not hesitate to sell him at the next country auction.