two swings, back and forth
a lovely rhythm of our feet scraping the ground
in opposition of each other
a pair in matching metal screeches
the eroded dips beneath us damp with rain.

the sun decides to leave us be
the clouds threatening to dampen us like the mulch
that finds it way into our shoes,
the wind picks up, pushing us higher
than we ought to be.

my hands find the chains
cold against my calloused skin
I brace myself against them, the swing out of my control
your hands find mine, you slow me down
my eyes are pressed shut.