On my back
drifting across the black sea
hand occasioning to dip and caress
the warm and inviting asphalt.
Knuckles bounce joyously inside fingerless gloves
as they stretch and interlace
the wheels beneath me creak and groan
but peacefully as they can.
Billy Collins words drift through my headset.
From far off, someone’s Black & Mild scent drifts into my breathing.
I am not offended, nor am I by the sounds of close cars that wash over me.
I am content with the world carrying on,
so long as I may have
this patch of tar