I’m starting at the finish line.
Head spins, blood flushes through.
Adrenaline bolting fasting the sound,
Am I late blooming?
Dried leaves seems young.
Ecstasies dance off my guts.
As I dine to the feel of butterflies,
I’m swept of my feet.
My heart now leads my brain.
The suspense of romance persists.
Obvious mistakes embed to the core;
I guess I’m loosing control.
Entanglement of emotions everywhere;
The fear to hurt is now the compass,
As the globe shrink so small;
I guess I’m a late bloomer.
