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....
The Race
Like a thick peace of leather well put together.