when I ride you, your vibrations
burn beneath me
wind holds me down,
there are no straps
I must hold on tightly to you, as
my knees bang up
bang against bang into bang boldly and
uncontrollably against you
I feel a contusion drawing itself to my skin and
as I find myself coming to the conclusion that
I do not want our trip to end
we have reached our destination
I get off
of you, slowly as
my skin has stuck to the metallic grooves and soiled grunts
of your construction
I smell like gasoline and asphalt
and my clothes are torn from high speeds
there is sweat underneath me
and around me and possibly inside me
our protective gear has been peeled off,
set aside,
thrown away,
too unclean and stretched apart to use again
my ears
are clogged
from your heavy breathing
or my vulgar screaming
my lips
are dry from teeth
biting into them
but the indentations do not reflect my own
I do not want to get off:
I want to get off
you
push me off
then
pull me back on, but
we have reached our destination and
this is not about a motorcycle
Originally Published November 2006: Simply Sexy