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.

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