Leaving the house I quickly become the night,
my body warm and white, blending with the dusk.
Water hangs in the air, holding my breath,
lungs foolishly requesting it back.
Air rushes past, convectively driving away heat,
my Reynolds number laminar, sub-3000.
Sweat pools on my brow,
a dam set for catastrophe.
Venturing into my eyes, the brine wakes me from my reverie,
eyes focus through the pain, on the asphalt ahead.
The street lights flicker on as night falls,
falls like my footsteps as I pass into the distance.
Acclimated to the heat, lungs purr and arms sway,
and perspiration rises from my pores like a flood.
Legs churn past rows of houses and slumbering folk,
I arrive glistening and spent, completely fulfilled, first shirtless run.
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