Backroads

There’ll be no bicycle parked outside my heart
At your disposal

Your hands are unclean
Your feet too unwilling
Not enough strength in your lungs

To ride with my whimsy

I backtrack along backroads that lead to sunflower fields
And I’ve seen your eyes fall short of reverence

I offer too often, too much — my invitation time and again to set a spell

For the sunlight’s forever waning
It’s a light we need to follow
Can’t I wish to hold each photon with you?

Gen Xers

Nice boy
Back in school, we’d ride bikes
Just not together

Parallel lines, at the same time
One of us too, too shy
Lone wolves, we

Both damn quick
With pencil and paper, too
Hearts raced, true love confessed

Notes never delivered
Our legs unable to take the leap
Fast-forward decades later

And analog becomes digital
I knew not your name until now:
Fragile

Pink

You’ll take away my grey hair, you will. Magically. Replace each one with the perfect shade of pink champagne. And I’ll be sixty like that. And smiling big from our gentle conversations.

You’ll have my willing green eyes, you will. Automatically. Value simple bike rides without analyzing the weather. And the air in your wings. And so what when the rain pelts your seasoned skin?

You’ll battle my worst tendencies, you will. Tragically. Celebrate the good and bad of them. And together, we’ll love the humble. And Conqueror will be your second middle name.