Passion burns when it starts
with the eyes between two hearts
and spreads like wild fire
til I sink deep in a mire
bound in a relentless wire
of thirst hunger and desire.
It is not just some sick need
to enter flesh with reckless speed,
such would be vulgar indeed.
No, it is the lover's greed
for the distinct pleasure,
that fabulous treasure,
of enjoying the darkness
and taking the tenderness,
touching the closeness
with the intenseness
of a feeling only reachable
in arms that hold unbreakable,
bound in that relentless wire
you turn me all into fire
my heart its own pyre
my soul yours entire.
But then I hear silent screams,
distasteful looks come in streams,
and with every broken kiss it seems
your hatred burns into my dreams,
and I roll away in the dark
for someone has left such a mark
that I feel like useless dirt
and that all you feel is hurt
and then you clean away the mess
like putting back a game of chess,
just another nightmare for you
one that you are glad is through.
You seem to want nothing less
than someone warm and passionless.
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