Passions ignite
Wildfires devouring
My soul’s essence
Our lips meet
Sweet nectar
Intoxicating with desire
Your hands roam
Sandpapered friction
Brings me to life
Whispered caresses
Liquid love
Dripping to my core
Seeping through the locked gate
Sating a long-forgotten thirst
Pleasures never dreamt
Explode in the
Cavern of lost hope
Mending the broken
With strands of flowing honey
Each stitch sealed
Through the heat
Of a lover’s kiss
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But where should that love be found, within ones self? Within the arms of learned comfort from prolonged exposer and reliance on that which is taken for granted? Or from the source yet to be found, the true ache and yearn of the heart, the one part of our existance we claim to have control over but that which we control less than the air we breath.
Is comfort and safety better than satisfaction of the heart, or is the needs of our most illogical part of being more powerful than the fear of change and loss.
Answers one may never know, feelings one may never understand, rooted in a muscle made to keep us alive that makes us feel dead when it isn’t pleased.
You make a valid point. Maybe we find it with in ourselves. A reliance on the one person who never really leaves, thus providing a comfort and safety that can not be taken from us except by our own hand.