We are running.
Hearts beating faster, sweat running down my forehead, your hand and the moon my guide.
We are strange.
Why don’t we mould patterns, movements and air with our lips and words. Together we are unpredictable and everything and anything seems possible.
We are destructive.
Lost aimlessly wandering, swept away under this drug. Drunk off your sent and the way your eyes stare into mine.
We are addicted.
Our breath is our muse, touching nature and praying for something beautiful. Two half's of a whole, cliched but true.
We are extraordinary.
And it could all end, as it began, with a metaphor and some words.
But, we are terminal.
For now at least let me stay here, and wonder if we could control waves or the moon. Take my hand, and we can.
We are running.