Making love to you.

The darkness of the night extends across the sky, filling your eyes with a different sort of brilliance. Moved by the wind, your black hair caresses my face and produces a slight tingling … a sweet scent, a perfect expression of seduction.

It is raining… sly little drops of water stream down on the window, coalescing to make love before they all meet in a puddle that mixes with the mud on the patio.

The dim light in the room makes me see you more beautiful and sensual than ever. You touch your thigh while delicately pushing down the stockings that envelop your legs. Your smile, your gaze… the whole of your face is a perfect combination of things that stir something in my soul.

Your footsteps are like soft arpeggios… erotic music.

For a moment I close my eyes and try to imagine a different life… a life with love. Love!

The word “love” revolves in my mind and then I feel your touch on my bare back. It’s your hands, conveying more than just a simple caress. I look into your eyes and you remain silent. Your breathing is impartial; sometimes soft, sometimes heavy. You bring yourself closer and rest your legs on me.

Now I feel you so close that your heat invades me and your scent intoxicates me with arousal. If we speak of acts of justice or expressions of wisdom, there could be nothing more just or wise than to kiss you now. To delight in your lips is not an indulgence or fornication… it is the liberation of a love held captive in our spirit, in our imagination.

Our tongues meet and we taste our saliva, mixed… We pause in a deep sigh while our two mouths confused themselves for one.

I slip my hands beneath your dress, feeling your skin, watching your eyes and your smile. I toss aside your underwear decorated with little red and blue flowers. Your nudity is effortlessly beautiful… soft and light; it is so light that it is sweet, so simple that it is magnificent, full of meaning and color.

You utter a few words and your voice completes this beautiful living photograph. Your image is no longer the composition of different characteristics, but rather the total abstraction of a feeling… it is the representation of a desire.

Your mouth kisses me with your entire existence. It sets into motion the passions in me that yearn to boil now and later transcend, forever marking my soul.

Your moans are so pleasing, they fill me with joy, like when an old man hears the laughter of his happy grandchildren running to and fro, sealing the memory with the sound of their footsteps and grace.

… At the end, it doesn’t seem to really be an ending, but rather a fluid unison of our energy… the marvelous combination of our essences. It is the projection of an embrace, a photograph of a walk in the park of pleasure.

Tell me, What is love? What is it to be just and sincere? If this is not love and if there is no justice or sincerity, then tell me what it is, because I cannot see anything better than to be here between your legs, feeling your life joined with mine, letting my heart beat amid your heartbeats… To kiss you, there is nothing wiser than to kiss you.

This is what I call making love.