Passion – By Ella Higginson
Red, wet lips and passionate eyes
That would draw an angel down from the skies
Or those that would lift us up—they’re so true—
Now which would you choose if I were you?
Tender eyes and clinging hand,
And a soul that one never can understand
Or passionate eyes and red gold hair
I know not which one to choose, I swear.
When my blood is calm and my senses cool
I vow to myself that I’m a fool
To yearn for those scarlet lips, and yet
The pleasure they yield I cannot forget
When my blood is calm and my pulse beats slow,
I swear that never again will I go
Where those burning eyes and those bare, soft arms
Wait to allure me with their charms.
And I reach for a hand that is cool and pale,
The hand that was never known to fail
And I gently clasp and ardently kiss
The one who was meant for higher bliss.
But when my blood leaps like living flame
With the passion and madness that have no name,
When my being seems like a sea of fire,
That rises and surges higher and higher,
My whole soul turns to those passionate eyes,
For I know in them only temptation lies;
I fling myself into that mad caress,
And know nothing else, and care still less.