October Ride

October Ride

Stephen M. Larson

We set out on our journey with

a rattle of chains and

clatter of gears;

You on your new, twenty-one-speed Italian racer,

me on my beat up, assembled-in-Ohio

mountain bike.

Pointed squinting at the sun, we move slowly,

fighting the wind at our backs, drinking the

cool morning wine through our pores.

I grin at you. Your spokes and teeth wink back;

the corners of your eyes laugh as your tires

whisper endearments to the pavement.

We talk easily, our words whirling behind us to

fall lightly on the grass and

melt with the dew.

You pull a stream of sunlight from your water bottle. It

splashes over your chin and down your throat,

each trembling drop carrying my smile.

Your long, sweet legs reach out and reel in, reach out and

reel in, tugging at my breath with every

crook of your knee, bend of your ankle.

Your skin glistens and glows faintly, while cold drops

trickle down my back and chest and

return shivers in their place.

I shut my mind to them and lick my lips, and taste

sweet tang and salt. It makes me think of

seaside days and fireside nights and you.

Silent now, we skirt a small, still pond,

the surface unruffled by the

knowledge of our passing.

We strain together against the hills and

coast with them and lean into

one another on the curves.

A solitary car passes. I drop behind you.

Your scent teases me with musk and

pine and delicate sweat.

We move faster. The muscles of your back are

taut with joy. I feel the strain

of keeping up with you.

We pump in ragged rhythm. I, not quite able

to match your pace, fall behind,

move ahead.

The tinted leaves of summer’s picnics and rain walks

lie scattered behind us, not yet brown,

stirred to brief life by our breeze.

You offer me your grin. My heart shrinks from

your laughter, but your eyes

hold no guile.

Your gift surges through my body, carrying

your joy to my own muscles. My breath

catches in my chest.

I envy your easy inhale/exhale, the smooth, dashing pulse

in your throat, even each sparkling drop that

clings to your cheek.

We plunge into green, flickering tunnels. Your body, unafraid,

perhaps uncaring, slices cleanly through shadows

that cling, cold and slimy, to my own skin.

Back under the sun, we mount one last

hill, round one last curve, to

see our goal ahead.

I coax my burning legs and lungs to one last burst

of desperation. You look startled as I

pull away from you.

I coast to a stop, trembling, triumphant, and look back.

You roll gently up beside me, with

a small, secret smile.