Know Your Own Velocity

There's this bridge that marks mile six and over it
and home is seven miles. Today I kept on going—
no ache, no tension, no fatigue. A tree-lined pathway,
ocean breeze. Nods of "Yes, this heat, we're out here"
from other runners.

I never used to do this, this madly moving
thing—heel to toe like a mouth over pavement,
steady as a motor into distance, electrified
like kissing in the car in the dark with the engine
on. Feeling thirst for what feels like the first fucking
time because I'd always confused it with hunger.
Embracing the belief that beauty has less to do
with bone structure than a weightless high
of moving forward:

redefining, limb by limb, the scope of every
stride, the why in an incline and curve. Each footstep
an imprint of a kiss into turf, toes kneading over asphalt
like tongues against teeth—this is making love
in the afternoon, 80 degrees on ecstasy.

.