These Paths: poem

I walk you

like you’re my own scar

know every mark

on each bone, far

 

away from smooth

pavement stone, cars

drowsing in their

distant drone, are

 

you feeling the tread

of my feet land

on worn-out rock,

boggy peat and

 

the itching of grass

on your legs, fine

but soft like your palm

and fingers in mine

 

 

EM HUMBLE
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