The lights are turned down,
Candle flames
flicker gently in the dark
his softly accented voice
reaches out to me
through the night.
Pulling me out of my reverie
to the here and now.
His sensual voice
warms me,
strokes me,
caresses me
like  a touch;
so gentle,
and so intimate,
reaching deep inside
where I am most sensitive.
He knows
just what I need
and am afraid to voice,
giving it to me
before I even ask.
I want to tell him everything;
All my secrets;
things I've never dared tell
another living soul.
I feel
I can tell him anything
and his opinion of me
won't change.
He doesn't judge or condemn,
He accepts me  with
all my human weaknesses
and frailties
and just understands.
The confessions in the dark;
this intimate sharing
is like a communion of sorts.
My heart speaks to his
and he listens,
drawing the words
out of my soul.
His words
fall on me
like a
gentle spring rain
drenching me
in luscious wetness.
I soak up
His love and acceptance
like a night-blooming moonflower
thirsty for rain.
His love
revives me
and I bloom once again,
if only at night.
I greedily hoard
the memories of him,
these stolen moments,
storing them away
for safekeeping
Only to be taken out again
and again
to be savored
like a fine rare wine,
sweet and intoxicating,
when I'm alone.