What it's like

[upperechelon]

"What it's like"

The sum of some of us meeting.
The catching and stealing of breath.
Idiosyncracies way out of sync,
realisation of what isn't left.

Feeding the frenzied fascination-
of unfamiliar terrain.
What it's like is like nothing else.
The absence of pleasure or pain.

Predicting my patterns of baby-like steps,
Like rabbit prints frozen in earth.
Recycled rhetoric rhyming again,
Words to inspire rebirth.

Here I will stumble, and trip to the floor,
only to tower again.
Here I will stride, because that's what it's like,
when June cycles back, in the end.