A smooth head tilt toward the sidewalk,
he gently gestures for us to cross
When ignored, he snaps a bent leg into place
as naturally as he's attracted to men
soft, intelligent eyes glinting through his rainbow helmet
His cycle stutters like he did when asking Jason out,
breathing out life like he breathed out "I love you",
a mustang anxious to rear up and gallop
He soothes the handlebars with steady palms,
then unleashes his bike's power
as soon as we're safe
on the other side,
off to meet up at a romantic café
with a man named Peter Ryde.
I was crossing the street this morning and saw the most passionate look in this motorcyclist's eyes. I had to write about him.
— The End —