I swim through the ebony night,
find it as exhilarating and calm as
the sweet caress of a lover
after we both explode internally —
a ferocious orgasmic nova —
and find solace in one another’s
trembling arms.

I want to devour it, the night,
want to feed my insatiable hunger
for its starlit serenity,
its vulnerability —
my vulnerability, my freedom.

Drift though vacant city streets,
take ownership of what is often
off-limits, feel power within the
rhythmic pedal pumping;
I give up control,
let arms extend like wing flaps
while rocketing downhill
into an uncertain void —
a bullet, and chaos takes over.

Full moon wanderlust
makes loneliness feel like a shindig,
a raging party on my wheeled vessel,
listening to pulsating thumps of
bass blasts ear drums
cutting through teary eyes frozen
from sharp downhill glides.

I could ride into infinity,
a black hole of asphalt take me
away, like a seductive veneer,
and I’m smiling all the way
like a fearless explorer
who beckons eternity with
urban cartography
until dawns bitter light
sets expedition to camp.