When we made love was it not a miracle, did the sky not shower its approval with flashes of lightning and deafening booms, drowning out your moans of being satisfied.

 Did the rain not drum on the windows applauding your beautiful performance, and was it not an encore for round two and three.

 When we were finished, was the sun not fatigued of being out, and did the moon not greet our skin as we laid in each other's arms; glistening as if we were made of diamonds.

Making love to you
is a force beyond anything 
the universe has ever experienced.