Alone. 

Inside the room. 

Heat making the walls melt. 

The need to want. 

To feeling of being wanted. 

Makes me let everything go. 

I fall back onto the bed, 

underneath of his weight. 

Blushing as his mouth brush over my neck, 

my cheeks, my mouth. 

Kissing away every breath in my chest. 

Clothes stripped off, 

as if shedding an unwanted skin. 

So that I may be embrace 

And embrace, 

under tenderness 

and love. 

I feel pressure building, 

inside... 

inside... 

inside... 

inside of... 

Tight embraces, 

and blush worthy kisses. 

Make me hide my face behind my hands, 

I dare tears to spill from my eyes. 

Because this feeling, 

is just so... 

So beautiful. 

Is it, 

the definition of 

what it means to makes love. 

To feel to tension 

of another living soul, 

join you in somewhere between 

the rush of energy and that calm safety 

that love doth know. 

I drink in the heat, 

that's being absorbed deep inside me. 

Holding me against him, 

holding me close to him. 

Making me blush. 

Making me sigh heavily. 

Making me cry out with pleasure. 

This is the feeling of being... 

wanted 

needed 

and loved. 

Never forget love. 

This is not an act of morals. 

Of what is right and wrong. 

Of how easy it is for someone 

do get someone else to do this with them. 

No. 

Is it not called making love? 

So then, isn't that doth not what we have made. 

Love. 

Sweat dripping. 

Blush festering. 

Mind raching. 

Body spasming. 

Bodies embracing. 

This is love. 

And it is my choice to feel. 

To feel loved. 

To feel needed. 

To feel wanted. 

To Hold and be held. 

To kiss and be kissed. 

To touch and be touched. 

To love and be loved.