It's nice when you're
breathe in, breathe out,
step by step in the cold morning grass,
moving quickly.
It's nice to be connected,
it's nice as you're
matching pace with somebody,
timing the same,
stepping one at a time in the same direction,
breathing in a singular line (in, out, in, out, together
our breaths can't be told apart
as they frost the air into clouds).
you and i are matching pace
and it's nice that
this poem isn't about running at all.
YOU ARE READING
Dregs
PoetryDregs: the most worthless part or parts of something. This is a collection of poetry I've written over the last few years as I try to figure out who I am, what I want, and how to get it without killing myself in the process. I'll put trigger warning...
