Ode to Passion

What bliss creates this singular moment?

What caressing magic looms in the background

awaiting that enveloping feeling

where fingers touch, lips graze lips,

where twin drops of silky-sweet sweat conjoin,

bringing an abundance of fiery heat

to an already warm night …

Where does the mind’s eye ramble?

Across a sleek and supple shoulder,

across and down delicate fingers,

slim, yet firm and sensual;

or does the eye cross over to near perfection,

a portion of all consuming beauty

when gazing into the eyes that hold you spellbound,

when you thought you controlled all your desires …

Why is this moment more so than all those past?

When the swell of breasts crushes against your chest,

when you feel the twin points of rising need,

seemingly carve, “I want you,” into your flesh;

as if trying to embed passion even beyond your soul,

and neither do you wish to separate from this moment

that that incessant need swells even more,

and you feel the fire rage hotter …

What does it take to back away from such power?

What can one do to wrest themselves free,

free from the invisible chains that softly bind us

to that which enthralls us beyond all beauty we see;

beyond colors of rainbows most perfect,

to sunrises and sunsets in their majestic fervor;

it is that desire that wraps around our loins,

grips, pulls us in and refuses to let go …

When it happens, there becomes no reason,

no rhyme or purpose,

except to rise to the moment;

that pureness of a more perfect union,

perfection notwithstanding,

and feel the power of love absolute;

love incarnate …

How to walk away is but to create the perfect death,

for nowhere on this earth,

can greater perfection encompass twin souls.

When perfection snares you as its prisoner,

to the greatest imaginings possible;

and to live in a world of possibilities,

which gives rise that all things are possible.

Without possibilities, we have nothing.

With possibilities, we have it all.