Love making or love in the making?

The following write up is inspired by the emotional rant of a friend after she made love to her soul mate. It has nothing to do with my personal life or anyone else’s, in particular. 



My lips fell on yours like I tasted snow and the sky, both at once. As my tongue moved inside your mouth, I felt like I found an eternity in disguise. Your hands held my face with such passion as if all the keys on piano cried in unison. Your body felt like ice against mine, some droplets of sweat drawn on our face like dew from a chilly winter night. You moved with such precision, my hips followed suit in harmony as if dancing to an old song on the gramophone with our bodies swallowing each other in the wake of that moment. I felt like I had reached the zenith of a rugged terrain. My heart was full of brewed emotions, hot and pouring out like a tsunami ready to drown me and you. My fingers were dazzled from moving all over the surface of your tanned skin. My body aches in places I wouldn’t mention to you for things you already know. My hair are unkempt with all the wars you waged on me at the battleground of my bed, but oh thank god, I won. Right now, I feel so precious as if I was made of gold. I look at myself like I’ll catch a glimpse of the night where you broke into my soul and left a big wide hole there, a hole that you would later repair. 

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