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Quick Note:

This poem was birthed on my site www.FictionsFootsteps.com from my latest post in the fictional series, “You Don’t Get to Say Goodbye.” Transferred to this site by my own permission…lol

Blind Passion

You see her eyes
Not their color
Passions. Likes. Dislikes. Inner thoughts. Emotions.

You see her face
Not the eyebrows
Telegraphed desires.
Warmth of her smile
Truth of the glimmer from those aforementioned windows to the soul

You see her body
Not the proportions
The manner in which she moves
Everything
When she dances, she’s a smorgasbord of poetry in motion
When she walks she’s a samba
When she talks her body whispers and screams as needed
When she’s gentle, her movements mesmerize
When she touches, the penetration of electricity transits your nervous system’s railways

You hear her voice
Not the soprano or alto
Chords strung in tune to your heart
Strumming away at your soul as a siren invitation
Hunger-inducing
A craving to hear the soft sweet nothing whispered into an anxious ear

Knotted emotions unstrung
She waltzes your passion wherever and whenever she likes
Whether she realizes or not
Captivation a welcome dream to play with in those nether regions between sleep and awake
Dreams but not dreams
Fantasies but, oh hell yes, fantasies
Dark, playful eyes tease and please and beckon and walk away
Cradling your control every step of her way

You buy into passion
All
Every minute twitch of a lip
Every slight rise of her brow
Every sensual wiggle of her ass on the dance floor
Every demure stroll in her otherworldly gait
Every smile she conjures in you
Every smile she displays on that lovely countenance
Every breathless look she steals from you despite your willingness to give them freely
Every hope which blossoms
Every flirt she throws your way

Blind passion drives you
Whisks you against the current of reason
Driving dreams and lusts to unrealistic levels
Then questions their lack of reality
Causing confusion, delirium, more fantasy, more craving
Knowing your best move calls for withdrawal
You plunge ahead
Telling yourself, “I can handle this”
Knowing full well,
No.
You cannot.

Sweet bliss would entail lips to meet
Underneath eyes meeting
Underneath minds greeting
Overtop hearts beating
Underneath moon gleaming
All to sate one, all-encompassing reality

Blind passion…

And more?…