Passion

Passion is whatever the writer writes
It's in the reader as one reads
When light plays through darkness
Or in the moment of death
As a lover cries goodbye

Passion can be lace upon breasts
Twinkle in a shy girls eyes
Ringing of one's hands
Or the voice of a man
Saying goodnight to his child

Passion is what we make
It's silence in the air
And a whispered secret in a friends ear
Or a morning of peace
Lazily laying in bed