She and I

She and I made love daily. In other words, Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays we made love invariable... Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, we made love equally... Finally, on Sundays, we made love religiously. We made love compulsively. We did it deliberately. We did it spontaneously. We made love due to compatibility of characters, by favor, of course, by phone, first intention, and ultimately, because not leaving and in case, as a first measure and last resort. We made love by osmosis and symbiosis: that's what we called making love scientifically. But also we made love with her and her with me: that is to say, reciprocally. And when she left halfway through an orgasm and I, with my member turned into a flaccid muscle, couldn't fill her, then we made love lastingly. Which has nothing to do with the times I imagined I wouldn't be able to, and couldn't, and she thought she wouldn't feel it, and didn't feel it, or we were so tired and worried that neither of us reached orgasm. Then we said we had made love approximately. Many times we made love against nature, for nature, ignoring nature. Or at night with the light on, or during the day with our eyes closed. With a clean body and dirty conscience. Or vice versa. Happy, happy, sad, bitter. With remorse and without sense. With sleep and cold. And when we were aware of the absurdity of life, and that one day we would forget each other, then we made love uselessly. To envy our friends and enemies, we made love unlimitedly, magnificently, legendarily. For honor of our parents, we made love morally. For scandal to society, we made love illegally. For joy of psychiatrists, we made love symptomatically. We made love physically, standing up and singing... kneeling and praying, lying down and dreaming. And above all, simply because I wanted it that way and she did too... we were making love... voluntarily