The Art of Love

It's art;

Their hands brushed under the shadows of desire,

She looked at him as he looked away,

That bitter taste of emotions, it echoes silently

It eludes me, the mind of theirs,

One craves but the other yearns,

One is above the stars and the other,

the other is below the ocean's depths.

It's a gross scene,

Two bodies so desperately vying for something

That clearly neither realize,

Who is the insatiable beast?

Who is the insatiable fool?

Who is the artist and who is the muse?