Love and Passion

 

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I’ve known love.

I’ve known passion.

Love without passion, passion without love.

 

Passion on its own can leave a sickly sweet taste.

Or it can grow cold, like dried sweat, giving way to salty tears.

Love, in solitary confinement, can become embittered.

It can mutate, dangerously, becoming as wild as an animal.

 

The real magic is when love and passion co-exist;

Sharing the same bed,

Twisting and writhing and engulfing one another

So that it is difficult to see where one starts and the other ends.

 

The centre of the flame can be cold to the touch.  The amber wrapper burns,

And rages; but it is the blue spirit that holds the power.

I’ve known love, I’ve know passion

Love with passion; passion with Love.

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