side step. running in parallel lines. upwards motion, but never forward. beauty often forces you to look into its eyes. they are dormant, but full. they are telling a story, but stubbornness. the meek avail, but weakened pride holds the pen. there is this story. faintly remember it told. water. and how it gushes over obstacles. sometimes through. met with resistance, and billowing. we are not like that. faltering. falling short. always second guessing, and why? our celestial muscles, sore. tight laces, perfect traction. execrable acts, fortunately dispersed. bodies, thick with sweat and memory. if pedaling consists of turning motion, the brakes have been pressed. and standing alone, an offered apology. if there has been no progress, neither have i moved. and if i haven’t moved, the lack thereof intravenous, ice. cold.