Flying
I'm flying
On the back of uncle Richard's motorcycle
80 in a 35
Hands all the way up
Wind brushing past my arms
And wrapping softly around my skin
I'm free
I'm flying
I have wings
Death and mourning melt away
Life rolls off of me
And all of the darkness
Rushes behind,
Forgotten in the wind.
On this bike,
I am free
I can fly.
His kind hand
Pats my knee
He asks me,
"Sweetie, you okay? I didn't scare you, did I?"
When we stop at the light.
I am loved
And I have wings
I am free
07/30/23