I long for the leather underneath my backside again,

the long distance,

who cares where,

who knew when I would be back,

from moped speed

to the caress of a slight touch of velvet

underneath her painted shell like

heaving bottomless metal breast,

I miss the cool, the sweat,

the breeze cutting through my scarf,

my mouth covered in hijab of

Manchester City Blue

and the looks, disgruntled venom

of those behind steering wheels

and my two fingers sliding up

to meet their gaze…