DO WE MAKE LOVE?

Could I ever pen down, what you do to me?
It's been a while since I felt this way,
Been so long since love came my way
but, none of that really concerns me.
What I really think about- the context of my reveries
is, Do we make love?

I remember the day you first asked me
permission, to kiss my cheek.
It was the day we first met.
Letting you in, then, was my best bet.
As we sipped on our wine,
I gave in- you wanted to be mine.

Thus began this torrid romance,
I'm so glad I took a chance,but,
none of these, highlight my turmoil,
none of that, makes me recoil.
It's a singular thought that pesters me now-
do we make love?

I have no doubt you love me, oh no!
You will love me always, that i know,
That's not what has me perturbed.
It's not how you make me feel that's got me disturbed.
It's what we do in the dead of night,
Is what we do even decent? Is it right?

I remember the night we first copulated,
The first time I ever felt sated.
Little did I know that pain could be my pleasure
Little did I know that i could spasm to no measure.
So i wonder now, all the things we do- how
do we call that making love?

I cannot tell peers just what i do,
Cannot tell the world what i have with you.
Again, my love, I doubt not your affection
I'm engrossed in our pleasurable affliction,
Aberrations of nature that has it's fill
Deviances we partake in, when all is still.

I digress, my purpose is to find closure.
Not to taint our copulation with overexposure.
I need focus, need to stay in tune,
revealing too much would be inopportune,
Then, lets begin with- if I dare,
The moment your palm made contact with my derriere.


Note how i say derriere and not ass,
I am trying to maintain some class
and civility. Lest i say- fuck, spank, gag, bind,
These words can steal my innocence blind.
Children in your neighborhood can no longer dream
due to the nightmares we expose them to, courtesy- my screams.

We try so hard to maintain discretion,
but, how do we contain our latent aggression?
Where do we draw the line, if there is one at all?
How do I contain myself when I am pinned to the wall?
Can I purge myself in the eyes of the sane?
Disclosure calls forward the people's disdain.

Again, I digress- its not judgement that concerns me.
It's not the people, the traumas, or the marks that elude me.
Anomalies so similar- the acts we divulge in,
Permanence that denies me from returning to who i had been.
We fit- you fit me like a hand to a glove!
But, darling, Do we make love?

Can hitting me till I writhe in pain,
ecstasy, leaving me screaming again and again.
Binds that leave my wrist marked blue,
Be what defines the love between me and you?
Is letting you venture into every avenue in me,
the way we make love? The only way we can be?

Conclusively, my thoughts having left me blurred,
From our “love-making” I have inferred-
Nothing, but a simple and inconclusive fact-
one that I have reached with no particular tact.
You love me, of that, I am sure as sure can be.
We fuck, we don't make love. But, it no longer eludes me.