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On some road: Saturday or Sunday


Seemingly this never ends, or at least one hopes, or at least I do

The curl and sway of a gray ribbon cutting though the green pastures

And valley winding around curly skywards or gentle downgrades

One need not steer, or ought not to be more technical,

But who am I to be technical on this machine; one just leans into the road

Then it pulls into you and pushes you down, it’s almost as near as love

You can get lost in it, as i often do, and then I imagine and get lost further

In the love of you, leaning into your heart, raptures into your soul

There it is the simplest idea of you, or a spoken word, or just a ‘hi’

I melt into the leather and denim surrounding me,

Or to know the beauty of your angelic being tight into me

There is nothing more I want, nothing more I desire, nothing more…

…and nothing less





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