what i think about when i think about running

your footsteps form a steady beat,
like a god-be-damned EDM bass;
inhaling and exhaling in a trance,
hoo ha, hoo ha; the fucking sun
needs to chill the fuck out; wow
your sports bra is as brazen
as my nipples; an ear-bud
dangles like a tendril;
now your shoe-laces
are coming loose
but stopping
only ruins
momentum,
and so it continues:
a series of breathlessness
of pants of moans of gasps
of the humdrum drumbeat of
asics-clad steps of sweat when
it runs into your mouth and eyes
of days of timings of running of people
whizzing by like HDB BTO on the MRT
of every bend feeling like Initial D (because
I always get overtaken) of good health and well-being
(if Murakami wrote once that suffering is optional then why
are we suffering?) but at the end of the day I still couldn’t decide
what was saltier: the scent of your sweat or the breeze from the sea.

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