Poetry / Our feet sound the same, as we run across the sand.

Our feet sound the same,
as we run across the sand.

We feel the same burning,
experience the same
tiny specks of rocks between our toes,
as we leap in and out of the rushing tide.

Leaving twin footprints in the grain,
we ardently run towards the
red-yellow blurring horizon.

Our hands clasped tight,
a singular outline
against the so-long sun.

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