Starry Poems

MAKING LOVE

As a teenager I am told to stay away from girls who opened their legs too fast; and boys who couldn't value hearts.

Angels became demons because of unsatisfied want, their wings have caressed a human's skin so they crave the innocence. White pearl wings inked in black desire, angels fall and wake as demons.

That crushes lead to love, love lead to lust, and lust will take you further to dimmed futures with filled nappies.

But I throw away the words my mother has sung to me since thirteen: "baby child, keep yourself pure," and I'll let your hands touch me more.

My father's finest words will replay in my head, "they only want one thing, that's all," as I let you drop me on the bed.
Maybe I'm being a fool, I've witnessed the trauma your storm has left in its wake. The cries and tears the others have wept caused by your lusting eyes with luring words.

I will my body to tremble against yours, wanting to push up and run away before more items come off yet the look in your eyes resemble one of a longing child's, bright and hopeful. Is that lust? I can tell you want me for I want you just as more, but baby I'm scared because I'm not sure my heart can endure.

"We don't have to, darling I just want to be with you. No sex at all." Heavenly words flow out of your mouth to pound my head with faithful dread, I'll fall for you again. The words of your previous "lovers" strangle out of my mind because I've realized that you'll eternally be mine.

I crash my lips against yours letting the hunger and need to conquer my warfare, cause both need to touch for love to be fair. "We making love." I rasp out before you mouth at my skin.

Those very words have printed itself into my soul, a dance of two lovers. An ancient ritual that bonds two longing souls together. Making love.

Sex is driven by lust, they want, a craving controlled by hormones and pride. No patience, no gentle caress; you rush to depose your built frustration. Fast and wild. Disregarding the person you may be hurting. My love, sex is what you've had with the others you've collided head-on making them submissive to your uneven kisses and bites.

Though our dance includes your kisses and bites, they are soft and tender. Not demanding dominance over a torso made for love and care, but you share the equality of the stage. You dance with me rather than wanting the control.

The beating sound of rain against the windows fades out whenever you whimper out my name, the taste of your lips wound mine, even after you've travelled further down. There's no fighting back as we intertwine our fingers together allowing ourselves to drown.

Slow and calm, we have all night to explore each other's imperfections; to trace all scars, moles and freckles. All night for me to kiss any of your hidden dimples, all night for you to compliment my faults. I've forgotten what my room will smell like: lavender or earthly sweats. It'll smell like you neither less.

I wish you'd love me.

The gasp of shock we both release after our passion rests on a silent night. I puff outbreathes of devotion as you collapse beside me, your arms tightening around my drained core. A kiss on the cheek reassures me that I didn't disappoint; a kiss on the nose proves your silliness; a kiss on the forehead sends a shiver to my heart; and a kiss on the lips, that now belong to belong, let's me know that you'll be here when I awake.

Hence, I'm no longer a white rose among red roses. I've been dipped in your touch and I'll now stop being the rarest in the forest...

It depends on who you are with, that one person you have on top (or bottom) of you-- determines whether you're making love or just another fuck.