I'm riding my motorcycle.
I don't know if you want something, how you feel about me, if I left the water running, forgot an appointment, or if you're trying to call. I didn't see your email, your tweet, your text, your post, your comment of your photo.
I'm busy and I cannot attend to anything but motorcycle, the road, and myself.
Today, perhaps, I will not think. Today I needn't think. I will only hear the drone of my engine and feel my machine. I will feel her throttle, feel her purr, feel her gargle, choke, cough and then finally, roar. Today she and I will integrate into one being. I will eat when I am hungry, I will give her fuel when she is thirsty and I will piss when I am ready. I will ride as fast as I choose, as all of the control is within me. I will choose my roads, choose my path, choose my thoughts.
No, you cannot be part of this. No one else can be included. This is not about any other entity. This is about coming alive with my other half.
The road beckons us. It calls like a young suitor from the lawn towards a bedroom window.
"Come and dance. . . "
Yes, black asphalt, striped in yellow, I can dance today. I will fondle your curves, stretch out on your long roads, breathe in your heat and dust. Thank you for asking, as my motorcycle and I would love to dance today.
I have to go. The sun is shining, my chrome is winking, my hands are twitching and it's time to ride. And today, I can't hear you.