The Race

Nothing between,

Nothing to seperate,

Fingers tied and closed tight,

Breath in tune and crossing lips,

To turn and burn,

A lovers' pace, a firey race,

As if hoofbeats on hardened ground,

Out loud and out front, a love,

A spirit set free,

For the world to see,

We will run, together, no fear of fate,

For ours we shall make,

Flawed, but in a perfect place,

We will grow, as one, as more than ourselves,

As lovers do, so shall we....

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MilMan's picture

The Race

Like a thick peace of leather well put together.