In a written house,
where stories are penned,
and Life is experienced,
two shipwrecked souls
reconstructed in safe harbor,
breathe unison;
arched blond moon glittering two sterling-silver spheres,
honoring hands held together tightly against the world.

She caresses his ear scripting her request.
And he directs his life.
Sliding-in two fingers,
removing Nuvaring from cervix,
tossing rubbish in to a luminous brunette night.

He guides her body to reign above his,
his head lolled back against bed frame,
her hands submerged in his hair,
they fuse;
her dedicated movement bursts waterfall wetness,
his tear falls from someplace ancient.
I love you
I love you
I love you,
he says.

For her last time, she believes those words.
For his first time, he feels the meaning.
She, is his Blood and Nerve.
He, is her Bone and Skin.

Their Pandora Boxes vanished for ever
within a compassionate Universe.