everything we thought we knew, now understood through abstract means.
The palm of the Sun is a soft caress, and
her fingers a warm embrace.
Her touch sends tingles and tremors.
Her lover, the Wind, also touches and teases,
his hands, though tender, still firm.
He’s playful where she is loving.
The duality of their touches ignites something,
something that, unlike fire, warms from the inside out.
Passion is her name.
The Sun gives way to her sister, the Moon, and
the Wind gives way to stillness.
But Passion dances madly forever.