I trusted you, I wasn’t sure why.
Your hair in my face, wind whipping down the Highway
The mountains came and went on the right
Big cities rose and fell on the left.
I searched the shelves of movies in my brain
To figure out why we fit
You owned that Highway like an infidel.
I clasped my hands around your waist,
I wanted to go, too.
On a journey with one of you wandering sorts.
The good guys, the rugged, the John Waynes
The Duke of the road,
With tight muscles and eyes of the sea.
The confident type, but quiet.
When you talk, people listen
With longing, and yearning
But you are free,
Yet slightly hidden behind your mask of hair.
Your horse dawned a padded seat
And purred like a cat on the open road.
You live the un-tethered life they dream
You’re young, but wise
Like the paved American road you follow
A painted emblem of the male spirit
Untamed and perhaps hardened by the world you’ve seen
No strinne green stripe patterns or planned out chips,
Responsibilities of the modern man’s world,
Are far from your care.
You’re the Tyler Durden of Fight Club
You’re not perfect, you’re not tamed
You live your life
And I wanted to go, too.
And then your bright eyes went sad,
At things unsaid
Things that would never be.
Your voice lowered and a sadness crackled through.
The day loomed when the road would take you away,
Way out West to the desert and the sea
To adventures far away
and journeys without,
And the motorcycle hummed on
Her steady tune fought against the wind.
Rain loomed ahead and I snuggled up tight,
My arms squeezed around you
My head on your shoulder
Your sighs heaving through my fingertips
Through the soft cotton of your shirt.
You challenged the road,
Challenged the storm.
And with honest eyes we looked onward,
To our stories still untold
And the motorcycle hummed on.