honey is a runner.
he stares at the tangling dance of his fingers and laces
when he ties his shoes.
left,
then right.
his eyebrows tugged precariously in concentration.
he doesn't realize how he clenches his teeth until he's bitten his tongue or his jaw cramps.
i'm here to remind him.
his long legs take a stride for my single steps
i can only chase after the insignia on his windbreaker as he paces his run.
eventually he stops
and turns
and waits-
a smile present .
as if the sight of my stubby little legs pumping forward is entertaining.
after a goal is exceeded, we circle back to my humble abode.
our sneakers sit next to each other on my little foyer's rack.
i shower then we split a plate of chaffles and a pot of chai.
honey places me on his chest and reads something about a revolution
somewhere
somewhere cold and European
far from the warm comfort of my sleeper sofa and messy bookshelves.
what could be more revolutionary than this?
i inhale the sweet taste of his aroma and quietly revel
soak in amazement of my fortune.