Something I read somewhere

How do they do it, the ones who make love without love? Beautiful as dancers, gliding over each other like ice-skaters over the ice, fingers hooked inside each other's bodies, faces red as steak, wine, wet as the children at birth whose mothers are going to give them away. How do they come to the God come to the still waters, and not love the one who came there with them, light rising slowly as steam off their joined skin?