Black Beauty

And the glass broke,

No ‘you look pretty'.

And no ‘I love you’ from the heart.

And no bike ride that would last.

To feel the shifting of gears,

And that tinge of masculinity it exuded;

The orange road and the crisscrossing ways

And those broad shoulders to kneel on.

When the uncertainty of night became a bike ride.

Did my breast feel safe behind that back?

Blurred trees, shadows, changing forms;

Where there was nothing to hold on but an old jeans.

The stars above were a witness,

To the engine’s old song.

The Bike ride ends and I get down.

My face still cold from the wind,

Sweet memories and kisses made the day.

I didn’t know I would never ride again.

Because the black beauty is dead now.

And so is that life.

And the desire to want that false world,

Comes back to me again and again.

And I cry and cry.

And a bike rides on.