When the house is quiet and still
When all the daily jobs are done
And there's time to kill
I have a place I visit
Not somewhere you could be
It's far away and nowhere
And only meant for me
Near a forest by a stream
In a cottage made of stone
In the shadows of the mountains
Lives a biker all alone
A giant six foot prop forward
With shoulders four feet wide
Muscles like small mountains
With a big black motorbike
His green eyes hypnotising
And all his hair shaved off
With pierced eyes, ears and nose
And face like he's chewing a wasp
He's the one your mother warned you of
Don't go out with him he's scum
Til he hands me chocolate then I know
He's as soft as a puppy's bum
He doesn't want my ironing skills
Or wash and hang out his clothes
He doesn't want me to cook his food
Or clean his house, oh no!
With my hands on his leather gear
My head fills full of sin
As I imagine the vibrating sensation
Of my legs around his engine
But just like Cinderella
When the clock strikes three
I have to leave my biker
For the real world calling me
Soon the house will be full again
With complaints of the day so bad
And everlasting choruses of
"Mam can I have ..."
But after the evenings last goodnight
When all are sound asleep
I have someone who visits
But not someone you can see
It is my six-foot biker
We ride off into a dream
To the shadows of the mountains
And his cottage by a steam
Image by Pixabay free images
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