I’m here at my forge, making love.
Hot sparks fly up into my protective mask as I bring the hammer down, again and again, onto the anvil, shaping my love into what I hope will be perfection. I won’t rest until my love is perfect.
You’re worth nothing less.
You’re waiting for me at home, and I imagine you miss me terribly. I miss you too. I’d dearly love to return to you, I’ve barely seen you in weeks.
But I can’t go home yet.
Not until I’ve made love that I know is worthy of one such as you...
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Nice piece. I envision this not so much as a love story but more as a part of a creation mythos - God literally making the emotion, Love.
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