I can be in Germany – nice little cottage in Bavaria – some boring exhibition in adjoining Frankfurt buying wood making machines.
Trysts at the station of a small town, speeding down on two wheels, bodies compressed by air unyielding to force of a hundred horses. Nubbins taut and yielding pressed against a gentle back, a single being to the passing world, seat cushions cushioning on the soft butter of bottoms firmed in the cold wind, gliding, sailing, smoothly as moving lights cut through the dusk.
kalpaean 