Making love alone

A log thrown on the fire, two profiles met as one

the igniting of desire in the air

but when there's just one profile and yet desire grows

despite the fact there's no one else to care

must romance be abandoned as its fanning its own flame, 

waiting to burst forth, blown.

There's a special kind of bliss, not engendered with a kiss

surreptitiously indulged in, less well-known

for when one cannot make love with another, one can still make love alone


There's a certain special magic to the touch of your own hand

and a special thrill knowing that you will for sure soon be feeling grand

and the tender swell of rapture you don't have to chat up some drone

That's what it's like when you're making love alone 


0, the sweet, sweet sound of your own breathing 

as the sky turns pale pink, 'not too hot!'

And a special thrill knowing that you will not catch 'God only knows what!'

It's the kind of love that fits hand in glove and bursts like a bud full-blown

that's what it's like when you're making love alone.









Who can describe the special sweetness of knowing 

the speed that you're going is right!

and is there anything as thrilling as trying to keep a book open to page 24 all night

how reassuring to know that when it's finally time to go 

that you'll still be there when you leave

and as dawn is breaking you hear yourself making a date for New Year's Eve

It's a kind of love that fits hand in love, specially when the glove is your own

for the days when you can't seem to face it, the one who knows all the best places

who never asks you: "sign" on the phone, no no no signs,

to the simple pleasure of making love not taking, faking, mistaking love

the simple magic of making love alone, save on cologne!

That's what it's like when you're making love alone.