77 years old, how often I’m told It’s time to slow down, and fit in the mould.

Last year, craving youth, I bought a new bike She’s my heavy metal, elixir for my psyche.

She is a beauty. Her lines sleek and smooth Curves in all the right places, designed for fast moves.

Each time I see her is just like the first She never taunts me or brings out my worst.

She’s a fit lady. She sips on her juice. Shaken not stirred. Tight never loose.

Time for her pampering, her skin polished til it shines All her joints oiled, protected. When she flows so do I.

If sometimes I don’t see her, she never shows what she feels She stands aloof and centred while I try my mates wheels.

If ever I should tyre of her or yearn for pastures new She doesn’t demand a divorce. She comes to my rescue.

Do I love her? Yes I do. She’s cast her spell on me. Ageless and timeless, turned on by her key.