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        Making Love
                       By Carole Nichols

          Butterfly kisses, tickling the skin;
       The touch of your hand, feather light;
Can oft' move me more than passion's hot flood,
         Making me laugh with sweet delight.

      You fill me so deeply, touching my heart;
           Kissing the very core of my soul,
        And you work to ease thes aching need,
        Restore my fatith and make me whole.

            And as the tension builds inside,
          A fine mist of sweet cools my skin.
        While the inner embers grow to flame,
          And I move to take you once again.

      In the breathless, wonderous aftermath
          Of love's gentle, but fiercy chase,
      I can hear your heartbeat matching mine,
        As you hold me there in your embrace.

     And I wonder, dare I linger here with you
          In this place where passion rules?
         To see just what might come of it?
           Am I your lover, or your fool?