Bike Ride Sonnet

by Fran Berkman

The way your white-gold hair fades into black
makes me want to abandon all my wealth.
Like you're casting lines of brightness with slack
and keeping that darkness all for yourself.
 
Under a darkling sky dotted with fire
we sit contemplating our existence.
Choose another lover if you desire,
but spare me the Sunday night resistance.
 
What we used to be seems to have evolved
through coffee conversations on corners.
I'll stir my caffeine 'til I've been absolved.
We'll ride bikes 'til we've become foreigners --
 
then lay in bed staring at the ceiling,
our quadriceps still sore from the wheeling.