On Deadwood and Widows and Wanting

Of the widow’s black lace and gazing through panes,
saying we’d wonder what they’d had to say–
they of the boot and gun and well intentions.
You long for him, yes. As if you know
what he will be like: soft, and not. Masterful, turning you
just so in all the ways you want. Crossing rooms to quash
the lecherous father and then later stroke your back, desiring
nothing of your money, just you. You who cannot seem to leave
when once you were only too ready.
He is a need not unlike your previous addiction, though not dulling
the senses but heightening, quickening the pulse–bees
in the veins, something you only imagined, once.
The hero–you are
searching for the hero of this tale.