Riding With No Handlebars

 

I remember the first time

I made love with someone

who wasn’t myself.

 

It was a warm summer night.

My friends were over for a bonfire.

The lady and I

 

had been flirting for some time,

my excitement and desire at its peak.

I shooed everybody out that instant.

 

I told them they didn’t have to go home

but to get the hell out

with a wink of the eye.

 

As we reached my bedroom

our clothes hit the floor,

bare flesh on the bed.

 

I had no idea what I was doing,

soon realized you can’t do things

to a woman like the movies

 

make you believe.

It’s no always the prettiest

and like riding a bicycle

 

up and down hills as a child,

learning to vary your speeds—

pacing yourself uphill,

 

coasting downhill,

once in a while pulling off something wild

like riding with no handlebars.