Before we met,
Warm summer days,
Were as eternal,
As the life,
Of a goddess,

It was common
For gaggles of girls,
To tighten ranks,
When he walked
Around the corner.

His jaunty stride,
And brooding glare,
Causing the mothers
Of teenage girls
To warn their daughters

My own mother’s words
Fell on deaf ears,
As the growl
Of his bike
Filled my silence.

The words he spoke,
From poets mouths,
Long since dead,
Yet in his voice,
Even more profound.

I’d grown tired
Of my world,
Of endless summer,
And wished for
The taste of winter.

So when he came,
Astride his bike,
I took the helmet,
And sat behind.
Held on tight.

I choose to feel,
Those winter months,
Not kidnapped,
By unrequited,
Obsessive love,

She did not see
My mother dear,
The way I needed
The annual thrill
Of summer death.

So I came back.
To sun my skin,
And kiss her cheek,
Only for a while
Each year.

Before the growl,
And brooding stare
Broke the summer
To bring me home.

And free my soul.


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