She speaks up often calling to be cared
He was fine and sleek, now shows wear
The same feel piques the senses in the bumpy
Roads of life, and she smooths them over at times.
I can inflate the sense of worth, with a puff of air
With eyes closed, still feel the smoothness
I will dream of him between my legs, and marvel
At how happy I can feel all sweaty and tired even sore
And do it again, then rest and feed, only to tickle the urge
So freely desired.
New rubber, old hands, tight nuts, I understand
I’m a sleep, awake and she is in my mind, I may
Just be walking or holding, and look forward to washing
The dirt, the sweat, the salty residue of our exertion together
Is it no wonder my bike is hung on the wall?