The road doesn’t judge;

I haven’t seen her in a while and she comes

back to me like an old friend.

The accepted rise and fall

of my shoes up and down reverberate

through morning mist, carrying

me to lands unknown.

The road doesn’t laugh;

my thighs rub together from lack

of exercise, lack of commitment. She doesn’t

care about love handles, current love

lives or that my shoes could use

some more miles.

The road welcomes my existence;

I choose to spend the day with her.

My breath is hers, my stride

is hers, we become one. As we weave

movement makes me feel

loved, accepted. My run is her child;

the road gives birth to new perspective, reflective

of change. I’m back in her shoes, I mold

to her wants, lusting over what she offers

not what the world shares.

The road loves me and I it.