- Books, Literature, and Writing
Passion, wish it were...
Inspired by a fellow hubber...
Passion, wish it were…
Intense words that language has given
To movements of warmth of skin contact
Like upon freshly sewn silk, spun of electricity and butterfly
Your hand to the small of my back…
Hesitant, this hand retreats; it is the first contact, and shy
Goes her mind to the past, to the others, to her hurt soul
To love is to risk everything, your ego, your pride and dignity
But that furtive reward lies behind every door, of the many you have closed.
Hands and finger interlock, an age-old symbol of trust,
And a tear falls from your shoulder, as you look away, still guarded.
Trust…is another thing, that shares your burden; but stronger still
Is the animal need for closeness, of acceptance, of completion.
Returning to the memories, of past fires now long burnt dry, your eyes
Wince to the pain, that failure seems to be permanent
The voice deep inside that is all but a whisper,
“ Try again love, for there is no more importance than this,
To love and love more deeply, than your heart can barely resist.”
For life is too short, and tragedies too common, to not break up this arbitrary existence
With something that is timeless, effortless, but not without folly
This thing we know like a hot knife to our senses, a vibrating ecstasy through our chest
A feeling unlike any other, occurs more rare than…
breathing heavier now…with moisture lips are now parted
a soft, longing, imperceptible sound, falls warm from your mouth, your soul
your deep within to my ears, the hair quickly stands upon my neck
you clutch at my body violently, as if I would turn you away…
I won’t, and already knew this, from the place I met you before
The moment I heard your voice, your passion,
The moment I caught your doubting gaze, across the road from your devil
I wish it were easy, to tell you it’s ok
I wish it were timeless, your lust, your longing.
Passion, wish it is…