The biker

I'm a biker. If I say

that it's more to life than flying

just above the road some day,

then you'll know that I am lying.

By and by though I  may feel

such a sting for earthly pleasure.

Then I put away my wheels

and I walk the streets in leisure.

Usually I find some girl

that is young enough to charm me,

old enough to know the world,

kind enough to never harm me.

We talk of such and such alike,

but I sense distress about them

when I tell them that my bike

is my life. I'll do without them.

But one day I meet the one

beauty which exceeds all scaling,

and I court her just for fun,

always with the thought of failing.

But she's strangely drawn to me

where I sit all tanned and greasy,

and I think that this could be

not too good if it's too easy.

She's a  woman. I'm a man,

but I feel her charm is loosing

'cause my bike is pure titan.

I don't even think of choosing.

We make love although I feel

as I'm in a  work of fiction.

Maybe it is all too real.

Lovemaking is only friction.

Bicycling is all about

sliding with the least resistance

ever forward without doubt 

out of reach and of existence.

As our night draws to an end

I admit I truly like her,

but I know that I will spend

my life stomping. I'm a biker.

So I leave her on the bed

moments after she starts crying,

telling her that if I said

that I'd stay, I would be lying.