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Chad Young Sep 2020
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.
Taliesin Mar 2019
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.
Jenny Gordon May 2018
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.
Merry Feb 2018
If I had a car
I would want a’68 Ford Country Sedan
Big, huge, beastly
A masculine power fantasy

If I had a motorcycle
My fishnet legs would look so hot
Draped either side of its seat
And a highway to myself

If I had boat
I could go out
And I could float
On the water, on the lake

If I had a car,
If I had a motorcycle,
If I had a boat,
I would have a lot and lot and lot of debt
Guden Oct 2017
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,
Regular flies,
Some misfortune cats
Tired of having so many lives.
I wiped a bee off my jacket,
Like I change the channel.
Monotone May 2017
Wind therapy
is the
only way
I can
feel that
for once
I am
There's a rumor says that Harley Davidson's always leak oil.

Well, -all warriors bleed on the battlefield...don't they?
Elizabeth May 2015
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.
Kitts Apr 2015
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...
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