Spokes

This journey is circular:

It’s a tire

on my brother’s three-speed
inherited by me
at the brink
of boys on my brain
when I rode down and up
streets at dusk
Looking for trouble.

Hands-free
I needed only to lean
In the direction I desired
My spirit leading
my body to follow
hair wild
heart pounding
my freedom unquestioned
Searching for Someone.

This journey is circular:

I could not know
that you and I
were spokes in the same wheel
jumping curbs
cutting corners
looking for trouble
searching for someone

Spinning around
and around and
Never meeting.