This poem was written about the actual act of making love, and although it is fairly ambiguous, this seems obvious. It is really just a poem about a perfect time and the title just came to me as I wrote it. I write all poems by laying my heart on the page, and this is what I was imagining.

I wrote this after spending a fantastic time just being with my girlfriend. It was meant to try and capture those special moments in life, I'm sure you know the ones I mean. Anyway, perhaps I've gone a bit further than that, and strayed into a description of sex, and when I realized this I thought, "Well isn't that natural?" Maybe it's no surprise that this poem has turned out as it has, perhaps it is a fundamental thing that those special moments are so special because they are very similar to the most special of acts.

Just perhaps...

I wrote this after I received an e-mail from my girlfriend which was uncharacteristically short and contained no hint of "I love you" or anything like that. Fortunately, she wasn't leaving me, but for a while, I must confess that my world felt like it had fallen round my ears. I didn't know what I had done wrong, and I certainly didn't want to lose her, so I wrote her a return e-mail, and wrote this in that e-mail, so it is simply my heart on paper.