Few of us are what appears on the surface
That calm, cool, and collected facade

No, just five thousand kilometres beneath man's surface you will find

Eagerly parting lips
Curves that mold themselves to the touch
Whispers that may be tomorrow's haunting ghosts
Wild and hungry hearts, liquid and refusing to be anything other than what they are

Unbridled molten hotspots

Eager to be explored by those who are daring enough
Those who are brave enough and willing enough
To sink into those dark and rich places
To pursue and to capture
To burn and  to melt
With no guarantee that we'll not be altered or affected
Hell no!
Passion isn't and nor should it be, for the faint of heart

*Burn