Your ******* remind me of S-curves on a mountain highway. Like the curve of the windshield of a Lamborghini. Like the stick shift of a new Corvette. Your shoulders remind me of the breaking of a newly frozen ice cube tray. They are the tops of the pillars of your skinny arms. The flash of your blue bikini takes my mind away from your secret face. Its temperature tells of a moist nose making a puckered upper lip. I'm reminded of Cranberries songs. We should've met with your shirt on. The rim of your head tells of a hundred men who would swoon. No fat on you at all. Would you even care to look at me for one more moment? The roses of your eyes are not yet in full bloom. Your blonde highlight tips are like needles on my skin. Could I even give a hug that didn't give away my devotion?
blood rush to my inner thighs tip brushes light blue sky behind you deep blue ocean behind you three curves tell of your waist and your navel. as you stand in this shade eyes like gray clouds masking their brown color. "I don't really want you" she says with a sigh. "You cannot handle me, why tell a lie." "Most men only dream of me," with a Kawasaki Ninja in her eye. To press against her would sooth my nerves. Hard or soft its all just fantasy. Her body's arteries and veins so tightly coiled by her skin. I'm still here after ******: untouched and unfelt. I will always be that picture written in the story of your life. She will not let me love her. She just makes me stare.
Enfield punches the ground, wheels throw up muddy rainbows from where they sank with the rain. The rider, some fresh young college thing, flinches as it ricochets off his goggles, then unsteadily pulls away wrestling with this strange machine. The old blokes laugh with their propane cookers and badger-stripe beards, slick with bacon grease and spit. Outside the beer tent a kid fingers an old blues tune on a scarred and beaten acoustic. Coins thrown into an old railway cap, her grandfather’s smile golden in the sunrise.
Yes, I am prolly the only fan of old, cold, coffee. Over antique sonnets, too.
Soft blue heavn's arid eye ne clouds 'non fence Though ah, how ghostly shadows haunt and trail Across the rippling fields of grass detail Below! look sweetly as in years gone--sense Of all we'd known within their cast, til hence The soul yields to is't childhood's carefree scale As twere of hope? vain dreams' perspective hale If we'd but 'llow ourselves to breathe, fr'intents. And Maples' shaggy boughs nod; leaves astir To aerie whispers, as the voice of who? Some distant motorcyclist passing through Upon these emptyer country roads in tour, Lends 'scuse for placid calm, where Sunday fer All that's excuse, the hol'day 'pon us too.
*NOTE: my la! I literally NEVER edit my sonnets, but this one was riddled with a hexametre line and is shoddy altogether despite editing, kick me.
I killed a bee today, It reminded me of a classmate Lost years ago. I saw him leave with a smile, A car ate his chest. As mine Killed a bee. That's the problem with motorcycles On the road; In a car Nobody notices, Dragonflies, Fireflies, Regular flies, Some misfortune cats Tired of having so many lives. I wiped a bee off my jacket, Like I change the channel.
Everyday I'm trying so hard to like my favorite things for reasons having nothing to do with you.
Today when I decided to drive on the meandering border of Walloon Lake, Wildwood Harbor rd, The canopied trees flashing shadows of squirrels peaking through paws reminded me of every motorcycle ride I accompanied you on.
Holding tight to your chiseled stomach, hands cupping your belly button through your sweatshirt pockets, you would maneuver your mobile machinery through every dip and dive, garnishing curves with streamline, flawless breaking and acceleration. I would lean into your spine, imagining the path of your lower back as the map of our road ahead, each bump and curvature a flawless representation of reality, the living moment.
Something sensual existed about the way you and I forged a relationship on pavement, riding the asphalt the same way your bending fingers rode my thighs. And every time I choose to drive our road with my less than aerodynamic Marquis, each stomach flip from the unsuspected slopes transports me to lazy mornings- Naked and alone in any way imaginable. Purity and solitude, truth, the end of it.
So I turned onto M-75 trying to forget every reason that I love Wildwood Harbor for you, and only remember the reasons I love it for me, but couldn't find any worthy of space. You made everything so memorable.
My Mother has always been attracted to violent, cowardly men So one night she went to a local, seedy bar located in the bad side of town She was barely 19 but had a fake ID bought from a clever counterfeiter As she sipped her third Black Russian in walked an attractive man He wore far too much black leather; leather pants, jacket and vest and biker boots When he took off his helmet his Grecian looks were extremely apparent He noticed my Mother right away... She was the most beautiful of the woman there Her blonde hair fell around her shoulders, her blue eyes flashed And sparkled in the light of the dimly lite bar Their eyes made contact and she brought her drink to her mouth Her light pink tongue ran around the rim of the glass The dark man raised an eye brow at her and made his way to the Bar stool my mother had her legs propped upon, her incredible long white legs He looked at them and touched her ankle without a word He ran his thumb over her pale and soft skin, with just one touch He had my Mother completely under his spell Finally after seconds that felt like centuries he lifted his hand from her ankle He asked if he could buy her a drink and sit by her Breathless she nodded her head and moved her legs to allow him to sit He bought her another drink and they sat and talked for awhile The ****** tension was almost tangible between them He loved how brass she was, how she argued with his beliefs and how she flirted to get her way She asked about his motorcycle and he offered to take her for a ride She responded with a puzzled "Now???" And he laughed a deep laugh and responded with an accented "If you would like" She got up and whispered in his ear "I'd like to very much get a ride" My Mothers heart raced for she had never done anything like this before But she had to have this man, this man that she had just met With a smile that nearly blinded her he got up and placed his hand Dangerously low on her back, exactly where her shirt ended and the small line of skin was He had kept his hands on her the entire night but this touch almost burned My mother let him herd her out of the bar and once they were outside He walked over to the meanest looking machine she had ever seen With concern she looked at her mini skirt knowing a lot of leg would show if she got on that bike He laughed at her face and climbed onto the bike He tossed the extra helmet he had to her and beckoned for her to climb on When she did he ran his right hand down her each of her legs making sure they were pressed against his My mother was in for the ride of her life... For this man was not a man at all but a God...