He looks at her

Like maybe she is magic

Maybe she is

He the connoisseur of her soul

 

On slow Sunday mornings

As God rays hit

Her hair on the pillow

 

He plays her music

His heart on fire

Her lips calling to his

 

He leaps

Into her breathtaking depth

Of compassion, love and mystery

 

Open to him

In all senses

She offers him

Her deep feminine beauty of radiance