There’s fire in your hair
As we sit down here talking,
A spark glowing brightly
Amongst growing dim.
Were I to touch it,
Would you judge me forever?
Are we matched?
Is it safe,
To say what I mean?

The wind blows so cold
But you smell of red leather.
Like the back of a bike
In cold winter air.
Would you hold me close
And ride over the country?
Do I love
Or envy
The place where you are?

Lips show such promise,
But I’ll not bite that cherry.
I won’t risk the foolish,
Discomforting quiz.
So I’ll back pedal
And cast hope to the ocean.
My basket
Forgotten,
Just friends with a wish.

All rights reserved – Alicia Fitton 2018
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Photo courtesy of Music4life