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.
Break these bones
Break them again
I’ll meet you where you found me
At the mat
Off the ropes
On my feet
Over. Round and round
I’ll pedal. I’ll not forget.
I’ll fall from That bike.
All the invisible damage
Can’t I too be broken and bruised
Cut and lying
About a beautiful bicycle crash