Motorcycle Boys

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Me on my own motorcycle.

Motorcycle Boys

Thrill seeking, inked and scarred, rough and tumble boys,
they treated life like the growl of the engines between their thighs.
One was honest, one was angry, one was crass, all three fell in love
with the girl with watchful eyes, the girl who would laugh at speed
and spill into their beds, meeting bite for bite. But one by one their
cowardice showed and one by one they left her behind, a shotgun hole
in her heart three times.  Each breach she mended with her own hands,
telling herself as she stitched that she knew better, and then the next one
would ride forward and she would toss her sewing kit in a drawer.
When she was finally done with the motorcycle boys,
the sound of engines fading from her ribcage, they tried,
they tried to slide their way back into her body,
as slippery as synthetic oil in her blood.
Their roars were whispered promises, repeated sighs,
only now she could laugh and twist a wrench into their lies.

 

 

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