Passion, like fire, it seems, is rarely chaste.

But it can feel intensely pure

When we’re unraveled;

Tongues dancing with each other

Lips pursed and pressed against lips,

Washing away any guilt

That might remain.


Yet the blue flames fetch,

With flesh touches

Emotions that are clear;

Drops of dew that

Submit and surrender

Tales of our transgressions

For everyone to know.

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