Passion Fruit

Passion fruit You said you like passion fruit, But I'm not the passion to your fruit. A little tasteless for your tongue— To tongue kiss; French kiss, Take us to Italy, Where our names are carved On the locks of love, Hanging from the Eiffel Tower. We'll celebrate with passion fruit, Then sail the Caribbean waters, High as the moon of Jupiter, Quiet as Pluto, But we’ll be a hurricane— Making it rain. You’re the yin to my yang, Balancing the chaos, Shooting straight to the stars when I’m with you. I’d let you into this vortex of my heart, If you insisted, Between the space where I have you not And where you are my everything. I’ll leave you with your passion fruit, Still filling your glass— Pouring sweetness into the moment. Taste the passion, Feel those fruits explode on your tongue, Whispering sweet nothings, Or at least a simple thank you.