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Making Love



 

Light shimmers on the lake reflecting the moon’s glory
the breeze doesn’t help as much..
the undone hair gets ruffled with the blowing wind,
along with it, the smell of nectar captures the mind.
the fingers which are tangled in murmured whispers
leave the mark on the soft sand …
the lips quiver… smells the aroma floating out of the ethereal body,
-        a touch might break the spell or the dream,
yet incapable of resisting the urge to be one with self where joy has no bounds
and love spread throughout …


sometimes, our thoughts are what we are,
sometimes we make our thoughts…

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