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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required The wind in my face and wide mouth stares Is all that's left of the evenings Hurtling down Round Hill thrilled without fears That gives onlookers knees the tremblings Why would they keep a thing like that there Only the Raleigh sports frame would survive The long years, perhaps rusted with despair But this heart hums still, I hear the hive. My first bike, my only bike, the one That gave me status among my peers And caused the fights that bad Clement won Or was the punishment and my cares O the bond between us, the wild streak The lessons it taught me with bruised knees Sliding through gravel, making me meek When hurled hard to road where children tease Washing and wiping and oiling her Made her lissom for mount and for ride Pumping her hard, faster, faster In groove she succumbed, and we did glide Through fields and down hills, it was so rare Something erotic in teen and glee I felt but did not learn, could not share The winds caress and pure ecstacy. I dream it stll though, riding brakeless And her moaning sweetly as I crank Body bare of shirt, skin still sweatless And the Raleigh going on empty tank I wish they kept her frame, I could flesh Her again, rub her gently, oil her From between my thighs our souls would mesh Pumping her hard, faster, sweeter.
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