|Blogs > oneplustwovain69 > My Blog|
Passion is a place between
Boundary and blur...
It's a nakedness between
A man and a woman, a narrowed bed
To tame sensual explosions, and
The edge of a sea where a thought
Chases the horizon...
Passion is often times
The occult of our acts... It inhabits
Our memory, and walks inside our heads trying
To find and define the he and she
Of what we've become without the other...
Passion is those words of love and care
To guide us on our way through each
Passion is the makeshift mistress
Of my dreams...
Open to touch but afraid --
Afraid I might judge her in both
Passive and obscene argument
Or saintly arrogance...
Passion is the nipple of her fruit,
Taut and firm, and kissed while dancing
After hours in the middle
Of a naked room without deceit...
Passion is the voice of shyness
When she calls, saying my name
Like a portrait without conclusion...
Passion holds the land of empty eye space
Looking everywhere but not elsewhere
Searching for you and me
As it holds the sun and the moon...
Passion is moods, souls, rivers,
and trees flowing... Flowing from a galaxy
Of endless light, touching the darkness
With eternal love, the salve of our salvation...
Passion is a dream bleeding
For no reason...
It's just a color, a garden of flowers nurtured
By a lover's hand, a hand invisible,
A hand belonging to you, soft and tender...
Passion is the intercourse felt
Within songs and poems written... A massage
Of lyrics reaching-out from a distance
Great or small, touching our hearts and souls
With page upon page of love...
Passion too, is a night or a day
which passes bye
Is there someone out there who is ready
to come home???
Copyright/Library of Congress/2004
4/19/2005 1:45 pm
It needs winnowing down to its sharpest phrases and it's too long....|
BUT the heart of the writer speaks to my soul.