Passion and desire, without the love,
only lasts a while before it’s gone.
It’s like luke warm tea, the bag left to soak
too long, she advised, bitter to the taste.

I took another sip of tepid brew,
wished for the boiling heat of what once was.
As I stared into my cup, wondering
what happened to the “if only” we’d dreamed,
she spoke to me again, in whispered words.

Sometimes it is good to break the pattern;
the first step – finding the pattern to break.

Passion and desire – without the love?
Love without the desire and passion?
Wanting all three, I drank the witch’s brew
and broke the cup with a wish for it all.