Passion

Passion. Passion about something you hold dear. That you want to strive and do, that you cling to in a sense that it is your passion. I want that. Passion. I want to be passion. I want to feel it, to have it envelop me. It is not that I am not passionate about something. I want to feel the consuming of passion. To even be your passion. I want to feel passionately every second I am with you. To press my body to yours, entangled together. One arm around yours with my hand on your back, nails ever so lightly clawing at your flesh. To let the fingers of my other hand touch your face as I breathe you in and lean closer. My lips lightly brushing over yours for a moment, lingering just before the fully touch. To kiss passionately. I want that passion. Oh how my lips long for yours, to taste them, to move pass them and entangle my tongue with yours. To kiss so deeply and passionately that neither of us ever want our lips to part again. To feel your hands move over my flesh, pulling me closer as if it were possible, as if our bodies were to merge as one in this passion between us. It doesn't even have to go pass the kiss, I just want to feel that passion. The passion of us. The passion of our love. Pure passion. To feel the tingling sensation run over my skin, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end as the electricity sparks. To let that single moment of passion consume us, as though it will last for a lifetime. Passion.