Passion

It began in the most ordinary way.
A sideways glance; a half-creased smile,
The light brush of fingertips against an open palm waiting for affection.
It’s the overzealous nature of your heartbeat.
The way you press your face to mine.
It’s our lip-stained secrets that are exchanged in hush tones.
It’s the stares from across the room – primal, yet tender.
It’s the chill that sits in the core of my spine whenever you whisper my name.
The quivering drops of sweat that tinge our skin long after sleep has befallen us.
It’s collapsed arms and folded limbs,
A floor-strewn shirt and dress.
The sock drawn over the edge of the chair.
It’s the stolen breaths that yield in the wake of deep kisses.
The alignment of freckles and moles;
Your strong hands that press so boldly into my wrists.
It’s the wrinkled sheets, eyes rolling back;
The slow moans of intimacy,
Your forehead against mine.
The cradling of heads, the nook of your neck;
It’s the echoes that have broken through the rubble.
It began in the most ordinary way.
It has become the most extraordinary thing.

– s.r.p.

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