Like a bird on it's pole, electric right through me.
I see hot summer nights fade into white, this is fresh.
City lights spotted below and between, lights and pine.
Some secrets are known only between blankets and banks.
Curves under and ahead. Each one a functions to me
And I am to be their tangent, terminal velocity.
Strangely, no numbers here. No equations, no solutions.
My feet are glued. I am ready for the run.
The wait is finally over, I am alone, ready to reclaim control.
The edge is at my feet, a desire like none other.
A desire to push, to speed, to rush, to even fly.
To fall, to let go, to succumb to 9.81. To gravity.
It sets my senses to the fire, to tickle the snow with my feet.
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