Itch itch scratch scratch
Legs burning, ants scrambling
A swat with the hand,
A couple catched.
Friends lying beside, talking about fatal attractions.
I look up and see trees,
The incessant talk and fleeting glances I don’t miss,
A piece of a toy dangling to the keys,
Placing it between the people I see the wheels move,
The constant and ever moving wheels.
Unable to comprehend the need of yearning,
Wheels touch the ground,
The cycle with no handlebars riding itself to oblivion,
A fallen prey.