Your Voice

I hear you talking in another room.
I know immediately that it is you.
I am an instrument tuned
to the rough melody of your voice;
the low masculine register, the gruff, rhythmic intonation.

Just hearing the sound of you speaking
makes my limbs sing
with receptivity,
my body tremble with excitement.

I am in wonder
at the lyrical contrasts:
man and woman,
hardness and softness,
action and passivity,
self and other;
the delicious tension
of our meeting.

Come here, my love.
Play me your spoken words
like a lullaby
and whisper me to bed,
make your touch deep and resonant,
like the fingering of complex chords upon my skin.
Play me in your skillful hands
until I release an ecstatic orchestra of sounds,
breathy music from the realm of pleasure,
loud and full,
until I crescendo into the waiting silence of sleep,
ravished by our duet.