I would read to you, as night has fallen,
your hair soft against my shoulder
read tales from times long past that resonate through aeons and ages
stories of gods and heroic deeds, of life in fables and time’s mist,
and some I would write for you myself.
Over years you would hear the thousand and one nights,
the Morte D’Arthur, and Homer’s epic poems.
I would weave for you new legends, and bring to life
those bards long gone.
I would read to you with your skin pressed to mine,
your breast soft and sweet,
the only sound my voice and our breath,
as I intone to the beat of our hearts
I would read to you from Coleridge and Camus,
from Kafka and Dostoevsky,
from Joyce and from Neruda.
In the comfort of the twining of our limbs would
my voice speak softly to your heart.
I would read to you with the scent of fresh flowers in the air,
and languid lovemaking leaving us with peace and beauty.
I would read to you.
I would sing to you in tranquil tone
those words of love and passion,
even as my lips graze your skin in wonder.
I would read and sing,
to delight your heart, as our bodies entwine in awe of love.