I curl my toes with initiative,
roll my eyes back to see my own thoughts,
clench my knuckles for fear of losing grip,
This heart racing against the mind
in the marathon of events
only seems to catch spurts of energy,
whereas,
the mind turns gears at a robotic pace
a well oiled machine
working the inter-workings of this devious feign
so it seems,
love is more of a flickering flame,
however; no matter the wind,
lust burns at a pace all the same.