Vaya Con Dios, Mi Amante

O, Carmen. Mi amante. My treasured one. We must part. But it is only for a little while.

You are ready. With loving hands I have pampered you, loved you, traced your smootheness, cleaning, caressing you with the oils that make you purr.

You are strong. So powerful, limbs taut with energey. I am drawn like moth to flame.

I want you to stay, but it is time, mi amor.

We shall meet again . . . in Wisconsin.

Mrs. Greyhound knows. She must know. She sees the way I look at you. The way I linger when we touch. Yes, we shall not be parted long.

In but a few days, in Madison, we shall again be joined to move as one, making our rhythm, and me breathing like a predator on the prowl. Breathing deeply and moving, always moving, with rivers of sweat poring down my arms and torso as I look at you beneath me . . . rolling up and down, . . . how long? How far can I go?

I cannot wait until we are reunited, when . . .















the guys take you off the Tri Bike Transport truck and fill your tires with air so I can ride my bike again.