Your Voice

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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.

Cosmic Dance

I see, within my inner eye,
the delicate geometry of our dreams,
dancing together across smooth floors made of sky.

Time itself
is the rhythm
that we follow.

My heart twirls towards you,
flashing shimmering pastels,
shooting sparks of passion,
gently undulating with my love,
yet you dip
and weave
away.

Bittersweet flowers of longing
blossom and divide
inside fertile ground,
grow rich with scent
and hang in the air
like lanterns.
Little beacons shining
for you,
fragrant lighthouses,
calling you to me
in the murkiness
of night.

I am abandoned
to this,
our cosmic dance.

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