, set, go

 is a false start, like

when you tripped on me in the first 200 yards

of college, and your foot caught on mine,

fumbling over your words when you told me,

i like you a lot

and our laces were tied, single knotted,

running in tandem, footsteps matched and smooth

for the next 1800 yards,

until the knots started to chafe

and the trails we passed by caught on your shirt,

pulling your attention away, away,

while i pulled you back to our path,

each time loosening our ties until finally

breaking apart, muddy trodden laces streaming,

your back disappearing amongst

the chrysanthemums lining the trail,

because i have always

and you have never been — ready.