Where the Meat Meets the Street

The motorcycle rooooooooared~~~~~ Like a ravenous lion Over fresh kill, prancing, charging, pacing It Moved through the hoard Of migrating tourists, frightening the tamer More passive vagabonds Lumbering Forward On cruise-control The nameless helmeted driver Melded with his machine, Head down. Spine arched, arms extended on the throttles~~ Blue-jeaned thighs embrace the chasse A lovers grip.. His forward charge parted the air A back draft peeled the Harley black T-shirt from His winter-white skin. Spring had arrived late to New England. Better late than never, The road hog squealed Sex merely a throbbing growl away As our lance less Lothario leaves His own testosterone trail In an asphalt hail On the road north.