Warm Through Leather

Old motorbike, white and blue, new tires, full tank.
The moon pushes the sun in an argument of their rank.
So few stars here, even in the mountians, so few points of light.
Kickstart the engine. Her head on my shoulder, arms holding tight.
In the dark, the shard of the white headlight cutting into the black,
heading to someplace promised in a dream, and we’re never coming back.
The small, ramshackle houses give way to only trees and the battered highway.
Her body is against mine, and warm through leather, and showing the lost way.
The broken promises and the lost live and the bitter things that were our future,
the dreams and love and threadbare hope we had to hold on to and bitterly suture,
The sense that’s there a place in the sun or in the night or that there’s a kiss from the moon,
trying not to burn away our hope and sweetness, for something ours, that’s our sacred boon.
So over the mountain, to a place promised in a dream, to some place safe and beautiful,
where our love will grow, and our life will be something good, and laughter is pletiful.
She holds on and I can feel her breathing, I can feel her heart race, I can feel our weight.
We got to go to a place promised in dream, got to escape this place, before it’s too late.

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