Running by S. T. Eleu

Running

abandoning
the town and her tell-all eyes
for the woods and their promise of shelter

we ran

ran
as free and random and unattached and

              alone

              as two souls under a trillion-stars-driven night
              could be

shaking loose
of obligation, saboteurs, consuetude
le Vit Icus Rex

we crossed

crossed
a wide field, a flickering field, a field of last reflection

              confident its sable grasses would pave our defection
              defection would cloak us in darkness
              darkness would deliver us to rebel dryads
              dryads would grant our asylum

                            in ebony in ivory
                            ebony, ivory, ebony

                            eternally ephemeral
                            bloom

fleeing
no matter the cost, last straw back broken
line mined in the sand

we recasted

recasted
the they in us, the they in one

              his masculinity insurrectionary, my androgyny disorderly

                            fluidity guided
                            by strength and hunger

                            hunger, this night, in tandem with hounds
                            hounds in fevered pursuit

catching
our
breath

we kissed

kissed
as we careened from poplars to pines

              pines upon pines whose patience
              smiled at the spectacle of it all
              as if one day

                            hence past
                            they too . . .

sliding, in embrace, from trunk down
to dewy grass down
to creek

we bathed

bathed
in darkness

              oblivious to the eavesdropping of moon through clouds
              clouds too soon wrested away by wind, by light
              light upon sober x sober x sober faces
              faces in the crosshairs of fear
              fear but a choice
              choice

                            to fall or not to fall
                            back into enmity

                                          its routines
                                          its erosion

                            to be or not to be
                            free

                                          as two souls under a trillion stars
                                          must be

running
once again
hand in hand, foot to field, sixth sense at the ready

we . . .

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Raised in Vegas then exiled to Chicago, S. T. Eleu (they, them) has been a musician, teacher, and consummate Vulcan. Autism is their default universe, and though sparsely populated, is a glorious place to escape to, write in, and display an impressive collection of action figures. Their most recent publications were in Eye to the Telescope and Aphelion.

Image Credit: Abstract stars [wallpaper access] and silhouette of a runner [pngtree]