Perception

Passion weeps in the air of midnight

as if time will reverse misfortune.

It becomes a tool to ensnare yearning.

It moves with simplicity,

at times seeming more than it is.


It roars on the edge of reason,

clawing back when moments leave it undone.

It ingests every ounce of perspiration meshed with heated skin,

breaths every breath

tangoes with delight.


Only those blind to the haters can see,

the tested and worn acute to its perception,

because they care to find it.

We givers rarely meet the same,

casting our bread to the takers.


Passion wavers on scarlet skies,

sighs with joy in its eyes.

It becomes amused and exasperated,

a gushing torrent of lost control,

throwing possibility face down.


In its weakness it offers its hand,

aware simplicity will never be simple enough.

Beauty

beyond our sight

is in the perception.