• A bike, a wheel,
    I reckon its the touch the feel.
    Cold concrete and a scrape on my knee
    Mosquito bite riddled skin without much appeal.

    But I remember those days
    so much that it feels like last nights dream.
    A soft western breeze
    and the haze of the smoke from the grill, seems
    to tease my needs for the comfort of warm days.

    Ah summer so fast and good times outlast,
    whatever hardships that followed,
    but I'll sit in, worry for the winter's hallows.

    Alone I shall sit, with a heater that sizzles,
    burns the flesh raw but caters to softened drizzles,
    of the rain outside that corners me within,
    with a touch of the cold that enters my skin.

    To leave me to crawl all alone away engulfed in a blanket,
    that is neither comforting or warm.
    Aside from the panic that crawls up my spine,
    my mind drifts swiftly, but quietly to an old place and new time.