the cool wind in my hair
as you and I glide across
the cement jungle.
You make my life tolerable
in this crazy urban landscape,
my trusty metal steed that
helps me duck and weave in
stand still traffic of the Nation's capital.
nothing like flying through the city on you, my bicycle,
on this beautiful spring day. I know you can't speak,
but if you could, you would also say "wheeeeee" with glee.
This is a portrait of abandoment:
rusty spokes, faulty breaks, and negligent owners.
(I'm still lying on the sidewalk too, waiting for a reason to shift gears.)
the painful, unexpected blow
of the harsh truth
that you're fading out
of someone's life
like an old rusty bicycle
that's full of memories
from your childhood,
left alone, forgotten
in the attic
when you got a new one.
your life is evolving without me
a lot of expensive vehicles
a lonely broken bicycle.
i guess my world stopped
when you left,
and your world started
the second i am gone.
Bicycles and icicles remind me of you.
Cold winter nights
just with the thought of
You send my mind
round and round,
while you peddle to find solid ground.
Bicycles and icicles don't go well together,
neither do you or me.
But that wont keep me from thinking of you.
If you want to see the country side,
You could use any mode that you choose.
What better way than a bicycle ride?
No need to hurry and miss all the views.
Side by side you could ride on your way.
But, there is just something missing when you do.
For a leisurely romantic day,
may I recommend a bicycle built for two.
I have not grown accustomed
to the sound of your messages.
Their presence did little to assure,
nor did their absence cause unsettling.
I must admit
that I have waited for that bell.
My heart salivated
at the sound of passing bicycles,
hoping finally it was you
remembering the love
you have left waiting.
How could you have conditioned me
to anticipate something
that has never been constant anyway?