Night
the road driver passenger moving as one. and the motor is purring and I am purring but the wind keeps us humble with its roar. I feel the bike beneath my flip flops and the driver beneath my legs and as I rest my helmet adorned head on the leather covering your shoulder, I part my lips to let a rush of air enter.

Morning
and the road is driving at us, ready to throw her heart on our doorstep. It is sensory overload: moving images, layered and deep; information carried on sound; scents that pick up where instinct leaves off; feelings brought on by internal and external forces. And thankfully, in the privacy of my own mouth, I can still taste tea, and toast, and a hint of your kiss.