Image by Shelly PaulWind all over me –
Beating my face, slapping my hands,
Whistling in the ears,
Rushing to the mind –
Scattering away thought streams,
As I ride the pillion with my man.
The motorcycle growls, roars,
Road unfurls endlessly,
Green grass blur seamlessly,
Blue umbrella skies, cloud tufts, pale moon awaits.
Through the tree canopies of late spring,
Into the ever-changing lines of the horizon,
I ride the pillion with my man,
Without a care – tranquil, meditative.
