The quiet passion
That cuddles around my shoulder
Cloaking me in warm
Is not unlike the comforter draper around
My heart you tucked me in with, the morning
You met me.
The passion is less fierce as the raging fires
You started with paint stripper
And the gas in your truck.
This fuel is slow burning and made
From melted butter.
Its honey, and warm butterscotch
Baking bread scented and drips of vanilla
Caramel.
I’m smiling because this passion
Is forever. Moving through my veins
With less courage and less determination
Than the need I felt with you
But just as strong, just as long lasting
And true.
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