…Passion it always starts with the passion…
We live our lives sonnet-like,
Strict rigid reserved
She is a quick kick of free verse.
Flashback
Morning amnesia fades….
Last thought while walking away…
“Are we really the bad guys?”
Flashback
A long embrace, arms are anacondas squeezing the breath out of this moment.
One last kiss… not necessary.
We’ve already swapped spirits.
Flashback
You with Cheshire grin and memory lapse;
Me with regret this hadn’t happened before.
Bed askew, missing foot-board
Twisted blanket placed over fetal me,
You on floor, I want more.
Flashback
3 tequila shots, 2 vodka shots, 4 pineapple mojitos…
And the wanting to feel fingertips trace my torso.
She, refined even when drunk out her mind.
On the walk home, romance hits us like
Bird shit – Wet and unexpected.
Our kisses – Wet and unexpected.
On the front lawn of Joe Anybodies apartment.
In the morning we arose topless with the sunrise,
Lusty eyed, passion marked and unsatisfied.
Relapse on drug between thighs.
Flashback
Her words, Divine.
Her speech, The vine that produces grapes for
Fine wine
Her writing Defies time.
We play haiku tag on cell phone pads
She’s it, writes:
“Fingers in my hair
Always on my mind, I just
Want you in my bed”
I reply in kind:
“Daydreams are torture
When their reality is
Just out of your reach.”
We breathe… deep…
Flashback
Timid eyes cross in uniform, culture-clad room.
Says she has hope; I’ve been hoping for years.
Liked mind goals, she wants to save the lives of peers.
I want to peer into her eyes and draw her near,
But work restrictions cause both of us fear.
Flashback
I can’t resist people who place passion behind their purpose…
Because it’s always about passion.
It always starts with that passion.
The same way it always ends….
With a multitude of
Flashbacks.
