An echo of minstrels

The sound of your voice;
it does things to me, things down low.
They way your hand rests warm on my
bare thigh sends an unchaste heart beating  
to the cadence of your words.
 
Read to me and I am.  
 
Sky and page, a seemless blend
and hushed are rays of sun.
The clouds, a mutual enjoyment,
gift of subdued light. Perfect for  
reading what is beautiful.  
 
The us of you and me: perhaps more beautiful.
I like to think that we are.

Exquisite are the blades and blossoms;
grass between my toes, naked soles...
 
Naked souls. No barrier of modesty or regret upon our hearts.
 
 
(Artwork: Anna Karina and Jean-Luc Godard at home)