The making of it has nothing to do with birds nor bees.
A slow caress of her breasts, lips locked in a juicy kiss.
Two hearts together pumping faster by the beat.
Blood rushing from my head and my feet.
Her knees get weaker, my meat pressing against my zipper.
The Dream says i should tip her,
but instead I'd rather become Jack the Ripper.
Clothes flying everywhere, legs tangled like wet hair.
I can see it in her eyes, as I slide between her thighs.
She loves me with all she has, as do I.
She knows that in my arms she is safe from all harm.
She's been hurt before too many times to count,
but now she has nothing to worry about.
All she asks is I hug her like she hugs me, trust her like she trusts me, and I love her like she loves me.
