If passion dreamed of

Warm sheets

And porch swings

Your chest would be the

House

In which it sings-

And hangs its vibrant dripping acrylic paintings

Along its banister

As it dances in between

My lips and yours

And in the still

Strong notes;

The steam of our morning coffee.

If passion had a vineyard,

It would flourish

In the sweet of your

Soul;

And upon a little hill I'd watch

As its berries began to grow.

And I'd drink from the vineyard

Of you-

The stream of your pooling words;

Where passion would wade for hours

Beneath

The song

Of his little birds.

If passion had

A sonnet-

Black and white,

Woven;

Bound-

Our story would drip from

The lips of

Each page

That dreamer's hearts travel down.

If passion dreamed of ignition

Into an effervescent flame-

Our love would be glowing hearth

That would bask in its glorious name.