Obscuring meaning

I have recently fallen into a secret romance. Quitely and without fanfare, my new flame and I often spend lunchtime together, though I sneak in quicks trysts whenever the opportunity arises. Her name is Joan and she hailed from Australia but you'd not know it by her accent. She only speaks to me in Italian. Her voice is an angelic gift and when I hear it I nearly swoon. Shhhh. Don't tell my wife Terri. I cannot speak Italian, a deficit that demands I focus only on the beauty of her voice. Her words have no meaning to me. It was love at first listen. When we remove meaning our senses fill in the gaps. It happens routinely in the language of music when instruments talk to us in their own language. Need an example of that? Try watching this and keeping your toe still. Impossible. Eddie Harris's sax speaks volumes but my heart soars when trumpeter Benny Bailey talks through his horn. The meaning is loud and clear and without words. Classic. Added words would only obscure meaning. So, when my new lover Joan talks to me in Soprano C her meaning is amplified by the obscurity of her words: Italian and undecipherable to me. It's only the music I can bond with. It almost makes me sorry for those that understand Italian.