When I was young, I set eyes
on a bike, tough as a killing moon.
It’s trinket muscles,
Onyx like panthers, it hexed me,
Garbed me in leather
And waltzed me through
the quixotic night.

Nothing ever came
of the puma pack and I.
A beckoned fly, a pixie’s sigh,
I probably fit in the bearded mans pocket but
Now still a Bengal, I will push my luck with a tiger’s bite.