Never known what passion is,
But I've always attempted to find out.
It's stayed an invisible luxury,
Never relenting in being roundabout.
Passion remains a magic bliss,
Which only in movies exists—
That shared between six lips
In an onscreen kiss.
Passion stays alongside all holidays
In the ways it washed my brain.
Just like Christmas—When it came,
You knew that you were in for pain.
Never known, but always told—
Passion is a gift forever delayed,
With movements swift in change
In order to shackle the sane.