Passion of The Tides

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Sébastien Tellier “Sexual Sportswear”

Passion
See it thrashing in high tide behind the eyes
At the height of fashion
Once we snag ourselves the prize
Should we find a reason to adapt to hatching enterprise
Then rapidly we’re actioning the rise
Some will bid to hold us back
Promote a blind and fearful track
For no good reason
Mostly economic
Tell us that we’re doomed to fail
Before we get to setting sail
But actually this could supply a fate prevailing tonic
While the court’s in session
We can reinvent the curse as blessing
Take a turn to advantageous
Make such furtherment contagious
Raise the stakes and go all-in
For once upon a bluebell moon
Every loser wins
Try and keep the sin count low
As karma tends to need to know
Add a dash of passion
And then go for broke to know our blues from greens
Venturing into the great unknown
Straight through the danger zone
Tally up the acres owned
Then be ye fruitful, multiply
Bask in the resultant high of utilizing two keen eyes to snag yourselves the prize
At height of fashion
Paradise untold exists for those reposed to seeking it
Bleak mists lose their drift midst heat of passion

Passion
Some way more than physical attraction
Satisfaction guaranteed
For all us hopeful devotees
No need to cum to bang the drum
To feel the thrum of excitation
Dry hump every good vibration
Still not come undone
Run and gun’s all well and good but done and done with weathered wood
Suddenly our engines cool the second we’re misunderstood
Something wicked this way comes
When hopes are trampled underfoot
Passion is a lonely game when played for solo keeps
Fashions change and meanwhile we’re estranged from virtuoso piece
Seeking souls of sweetened glow
We’re dressed for leaping heel and toe
The earth becomes our leavened dough
And we can vault like seasoned pros
Weakened bones may peek and poke
Yet still we fall with cheeks aglow
For steepened slopes may petrify mid plummet
But have been known electrifying climbing to the summit
Face your fear with faith and cheer and who’s to say that you won’t overcome it
Got to show one’s face at race to run it

Passion is a saving grace
Provided we make famed embrace of every sinew blazing with desire
Doesn’t take a box of matches to create a fire
Doesn’t take a castaway to know how to inspire
Meet halfway with one whose cheeks glow every time they’re lifted
Maybe then, they’ll elevate you higher
Grand cathedrals need not lead to nose bleeds at the spire
Once we master art of passion
Height of fashion’s multiplier
Paradise untold exists for those reposed to seeking it
Shifting stick amidst the heat of passion
Gaining traction
Braving friction
Faming facts and praising fiction
Everywhere in jurisdiction
Not a single thing prescription
This is where the passion lies
See it thrashing in high tide behind refashioned eyes
And while you’re at it
Snag yourself the prize.

Richard Charles Stevens

Keeper of The Crimson Quill

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