Untitled - Your title is too short

Anticipation running like a ticking clock,
Sprightly feet on a desolate dock,
Soon to tumble deep and far,
Into an unknown abyss of glee or mar.

Feet stepping steady, one and two,
Spinning chest gears, like beating wings,
Of butterflies bursting adrenaline zings,
Imagining impending things, that blur and zoom.