Blue Bike

There it lay- 

blue slash 

of metal 

against avalanche 

of weeds, 

tires orange with age

and pedals reaching 

out like a hallelujah 

or a whisper. 

The sound of voices 

scratching into manhood 

like ivy tendrils-

smoke against neon lights-

from the forest tapestry 

that the bike 

stood sentinel 

in front of, 

and- 

for a second-

my heart forgot 

how to play 

its own beat. 

And then a laugh 

that wasn’t 

your laugh, 

and a shout 

that never lived on 

your tongue, 

and my heart 

remembered 

once again.