Passion

This isn’t what you think it is. I know that you’re wondering what’s going on within my head, but it’s not what you believe. There’s no self-obsession, no cruel naivety, or the fakery present within so many things these days.

This isn’t what you believe it could be. I’ve no idea where we’re heading, let alone the direction, towards the various paths we’re venturing upon. Often. Always. Each time you breath you know what’s on the edge of my lips, and it’s not just a smile. It’s intense, alive and barely controllable.

This isn’t what you suppose it is. No guesses, no solutions, no question to be answered or even asked. Forget the words, close your lips or, at least, put them to some use other than to contemplate and comprehend whatever is happening. You are here for this, maybe that, with more of the other being preferred. I’m not the same as the others. Sorry, but that’s the truth.

This isn’t what you comprehend. There is no way to understand the things that come naturally. Go with it, do that dance, watch me prance around you like some type of silly fool. I wish to play and say all of the words that you’ve needed to hear. Open yourself, relax, let me in and be all that you can be. I know that you find some of my words evocative, but that’s okay, as long as you’re enjoying yourself.

This isn’t what you suggest with thoughts. It’s strong, barely controllable and filled with pure unadulterated emotion. It’s power shared, unless that’s not your thing. I don’t care. Top, to a storied tale, the tail of your world exposed. Follow me, let me take your hand, as I learn and then prune the idiotic notions from your life. We need enthusiasm to reach the place we’re hopefully heading, so let’s create some heated friction between us.

This isn’t what you insinuate with your longing eyes. There’s always a little bit of ego, pride, that sentiment between two people, that do what they really want to do. There’s an intensity that could burn into you. Exposed, reposed, leaning into the feeling of how your body simply wants to respond. I don’t care about why, who or whatever’s going on within your mind. It’s not about that. There’s a thin distance between lust and romance, with where we are, being somewhere in the middle. It’s not romance, as that’s the ideal of a pure situation, affection, holding hands and walking into the sunset together. It’s not lust, as that often gives way to the feeling of being used, unless mutually on the same page.

This isn’t what you need it to be. Your mind wants whatever it wants but, your needs, those needs, are all that really matter in this situation. Be it Friday, Monday, Wednesday or that sun day, when your body and emotions finally call.  Forget the word lust, as that is transitory, the moment, the quickening of a heart, but this is the longer game. I cannot look at you the way I do without feeling… something.
 

This isn’t why you think you’re here. I’m running out of words. No longer willing to type or speak the items you’re asking to hear. There are other ways to simply understand the moments. Two people need to speak, to be heard in their own way. You’ve been asleep for far, far too long. Wake up, embrace, hold and behold. Be held and beheld, the events around you. Lean back, do what you were made to do and explore all aspects of this adventure.

This isn’t what you think, what you believe, or what you suppose. It’s not to be comprehended, even if you do suggest or insinuate, as your need isn’t quite what you think. You can deduce all you like, try to figure out if there’s a scheme or a riddle to explore. It’s nothing like that. It’s nothing to do with those moments. This is about something in between, something that’s lacking in most of us. It’s needed, desired, revered and often spoken of within a different type of wording. This is, simply, all about passion.

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