When our skins seek the other with passion,
Hungry to feel and press and caress,
When our lips kiss and devour the others',
Two magnets that bite, prance, and play,
When I travel your uncovered body
Inch by inch, gliding like a child on a smooth slide,
When we merge and your moans reach my ears,
A delicacy of delight unsurpassed,
And I seek again and again those sweet treasures
Which feed my maleness and body and pride,
That is not love.
It may be the result of love.
It may be a sweet reminder of love.
It may be sweet practice for love.
It may be the healthy and regular companion to love.
But it is not love. It is addicted delight.
Thereby we may yet remember love.
And see ourselves once again in the other.
Feel ourselves once again in the other.
Then remember to care well for each other.
To listen well to each other.
To seek in the other well-being, and not merely pleasure and validation.
To know the other as a living partner, and not as a bounty of treasures.
Not just a well to exploit, but a true reflection to care for.
From which pleasures are welcome, yet neither required nor expected.
Therein may well lie true Love.
And from Love flows true Life.
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