he fiddles with lobe
the wiggle subtler than door-stop's
where middle is at rest
for both

the rest of she lies still as pond
where ripples from lips will stretch
a smile
for both

my heart is filled;
brim-full.
but no, not heart

my mind is occupied;
taken, and joyfully so
previous passions replaced
by her.

i wonder

those mental maps replotted
how did they once serve?

I woke this day
greeted by sun:
warm, brilliant, present

ray lashed out from mighty orb,
travelling far to find my eye,
yet meek -
patient until paid more heed than dreams

but though the dawn was blonde,
and radiance brushed my skin,

still it paled

I'm a rider - I ride
The pedaling kind,
so it is sitting but not always chill.
Well, chill maybe, but that's just me -
that's how I ride.

I'm a sweater - I sweat
The perspiring way,
so I'm naturally cooling, not knitted.
I roll skin up top, not wool -
that's how I ride.

I'm a looker - I look
The inquisitive way,
so I'm soaking in views, not a stud.
I'm average and curly as a blur -
that's how I ride.