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Adjacent, we begin hoping to outrun ourselves to spaces of bronze plated cups and wreathes.

We dare not face each other.  We only see our glorious ends.

I trip over my past browning laurels into your lane.

Your leap is not flung high enough. Your heel hits my hip.

Caught, you collapse onto me.

Knees skinned and bloody, we watch each other dazed

having lost our race–

smiling for the first time into each others’ eyes.

We sit in loving protest until the angry crowd leaves and the unforgiving sun sets

no longer parallel.