Wednesday, April 4, 2012
With fingers peeling and a cool breeze winding up my skirt
I scuttle around the unexplored nieghbohoods of Seattle,
pump my pedals in the shadow of I-90
before she skips across the water.
The sun is brash like summer.
I can just about feel the possibility of burn on my skin,
--impossible in so young a spring.
A gust pushes me back
I push the pedals harder
and celebrate my grim I told you so.
The gaps between my sleeves and gloves are still too much to handle
I never trust the weather in Seattle,
it is too safe a topic of conversation.
To keep from chattering nervously
and to keep my mouth warm
I hum, sing, scat a little bicycle song,
I am shivering and sweating
like the way your body does while fucking.
Cold and hot take up residnece in seperate territories of my body
there are some neighborhood where the temperatures mesh
and those are the nicest for living in
After I arrive
I look up all the neighborhoods
and let my fingers draw my routes upon them.