Passion

Passion,

what is passion?

To Bratz it is a passion for fashion

but for me, it’s deep.

It’s sleep,

but it’s you sleeping next to me,

being with me,

day in, day out.

It’s you, Ali.

It’s the bongo beat of her heart.

It starts,

it beats, it barks for me.

Animalistic,

I bite and it eat whole.

I slip in her skin,

I greet her soul.

It’s the beat of her heart;

we are sinners.

We are not each others firsts

but to this we’re beginners.

You’re a keeper,

you’re a winner,

you’re my nightly dinner,

not fellatio, cunnilingus,

cum on my fingers,

entrench them and drench them

in who you are and what’s inside you.

You’re you.

You’re you.

And I’m inside you.

We are circles,

flowers,

spurting and squirting,

your vagina sneezes and squeezes me.

It gives my fingers a hug

then lets go,

your heart slows,

glowing with the radiation

of post coital love.

This mini death

is not enough

so we do it again

and again.

The circle doesn’t end.