Wind beneath the wings
soaring from runner's high,
paying no mind to the hellos and goodbyes of passers by
and those passed by
Tight black paper thin pants
cling like second skin.
Sweat dripped jiggling bits,
the swift motion of an agile body,
that fierce distant expression
hide the self loathing and dissatisfaction
brought about by pencil skirts
and spreadsheets.
Sounds of Burnt Jam blend to Trouble Sleeping
all shuffled
pleasantly blocking strangers’ chatter
Scorn for the sand,
scorn for the metal poles and chains with swinging children,
scorn for the corn dog eating
lemonade drinking
fatty on the wall writing on the paper pad.
Beach full of families and mostly naked vagrants,
yet the run is as isolated as ever
Six miles ran make the gap from heart to home no smaller.
That desolate and dark nest where passion sleeps.
Faint melodrama leaves a bitter taste
far preferable to the lingering staleness
of a dry energy bar and thick protein shake.
Berry flavored.
Door in need of paint
welcomes home
weary traveler.
Shut the door tight
rehydrate
breathe
The mirror purifies.
Sports bra on the floor
White shirt and yoga pants elsewhere
A glimpse at what dreams are made of
the envy of Bernini’s ghost
Rodin’s modern muse
Sculpted not by hands
But
forged by reps
by squats
by reps
by diet
by reps
by sleep
by reps
Goddess in the glass
momentary Kryptonian
No others matter
No more cravings
No sadness
No loneliness
Only reflection.
Absolute physical perfection
Glistening with sweat and tanned by sunlight.
Immortalized by a flash.
A transient moment
tucked away
in electrical form
waiting to be called to service.
Fumes of smoldering vanity
release from tender muscles
Drips of soap and suds wash salt and waste
glimmer purged
by soft hot rain drops from top to bottom
racing down curves and dips
down the swirling mass of bubbles
with tangled strands of hair and sand
and monotonous self loathing.
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