No passion begs

No passion begs the turning off
The turning off of the light
No passion begs the frost to melt
Or the snows drift roadblock
Unless it's just to stop!
The roll call clock-in clock
Because we've all had times
We've wanted eternally docked.
{Docked for our own sweet selves}
So let the snow pillow on my skin,
Compact the blossom
I'm bursting to give
With no letting, go

Oh no passion whispers
Or leaves you in the weaves
Of the thorn trees branches
No passion leaves you feeling
Like an un-played with toy
Or a hairpin when the cancer
Treatment truly begins
No love leaves you
Like a broken relic
Or a starving man
Living like hallow gourd
On a stale cornbread

No love leaves you
Sleeping on a trashcan content mattress
With a battery acid sweet spot
No passion, no passion, no passion
Leaves you by the back door
When your heart is still somewhere,
Spinning gravitated to all,
His being… No love at all
No love at all
No love at all
Leaves you; feeling hyacinth blue.
Hyacinth blue, hyacinth blue
No love at all

No passion, no passion, no passion
Leaves you by the back door
That didn't leave you a long time before
No love, no love, no love
Can keep you forevermore like a prisoner
Without a cell door
You haven't broken down many times before.