It’s Called Making Love Poem by Louise Tredoux

You were cold after diving,
your wet suit still clinging,
you said I could warm you
with my own body heat,
you seemed so small and
vulnerable, I kissed you all
over, tasting salty sea sand,
your body grew warmer and
hard to the touch, it was
exciting, you kissed me back,
that nearly started another
attack, you said it’s called
making love, I couldn’t see
the difference, you were
offended, you said I was
recalcitrant, I said it was
aggression, I never saw
you so angry, you called
me an Alien and asked
where I was from, I said
Planet Parish, I thought
you would hit me, but you
kissed me, said you would
make me yours if it was the
last thing you did, it might
very well be that, the way
it was going, then you
attacked and I counter-
attacked, it’s called
making love…