Passion

I met her once, in my youth, lost in dream,

Deep eyes and skin the shade of whipping cream.

Against the stars, I traced her as I pleased,

A frail silhouette, like a doe amidst the trees.

Holding close to the edge lest she need flee,

Yet there was no fear in her eyes as she turned to me.

Like witchcraft, she called me closer without uttering a word,

Wrapped in silken arms I felt assured,

This was it, this was love, and I relished it as I am able,

For this was not love as it is fabled.

For love is not fiery, and love it is not mad,

And love does not consume all you once had.

It does not bind like chains, and burn like hot iron.

It does not run, and hunt, and feast like Orion

But I embraced this fire, embraced this sin,

Kindled the flame, and watched her shadow dance within.

I met her once, in my youth, to be forever remembered,

The only night in my life I’ve ever surrendered.

I swallowed my pride, and let the magic pull me in.

It was passion, and I have never known it since.