When I think of making love. . . I think of airy lightness, like a dandelion plume floating carelessly in a gentle, warm breeze. Bodies feel like they’re floating above sheets, with skin like wisps of electricity, dancing with light — light from candles, light from sun, light from eyes. I think of deep, cleansing breaths & the manner in which bodies seem to become enveloped by to those rhythmic exhales, surrendering. I think of sensuality. Awareness heightened, senses honed, logic suspended. Every touch, kiss, & thrust is perpetually timeless. They go slowly, slowly, slowly against time, not dawdling but idling, lingering, savoring. There is no hurry. I think of breathless climaxes with smiles on faces, full of relief & love. Blood rushes to meet pleasure spots, warming, engorging. Making love feels like the luxurious tips of swan feathers; like innate grace with heaps of vulnerability; like goosebumps; like home. Making love smells like sa...