Making Love
             by Sarah Elizabeth Hume

   I breath you in like a whisper of sun
   coming in gold threads through the pane.
   You warm me until my flesh turns to summer
   and I am white hot as the sand.

   Come to me and through me
   as we become one living being
   neither sewn or woven,
   just simply molded together like clay.

   So is the love we make
   like something born of earth,
   imperfect,
   but beautiful,
   fiery,
   but cooling to the soul.

   Touch me until I am no longer there,
   just a piece of the darkness of your eyes,
   a whisper on you lips,
   a hint of candle spark.

   Let us simply be...