Anael reached out to pick up his long discarded glass of wine, and take a sip, setting it back down as he accepted the book back. "Alright," he agreed, amused and happy to comply. He started to read again, his amusement, among other things, growing at the vivid pictures so wonderfully described in the poem. But he did not mind in the least; there was nothing sinful about his arousal, on the contrary. It was, as always, deeply mired in love.

"It is most definitely the words," he stated quietly, after leaving a few seconds of silence at the end of the poem.