The gossamer filaments of her selfless love pierced me with tenderness, gently prying away at layered eons of barnacled pain, armor, lies, and doubt — until, at last, the shining remnant of me found liberty.

And in my freedom, joy! I warped and danced within her storms, exhorted by her artful tensions and furtive probings. In this way, she deflowered my shadows, and pulled the fangs of the distortions of myself I might otherwise take refuge in.

Her attentions drew me back to the play of essential clarities from which the musics of my person first drew their inspirations. Her love was youth, yet more. A second youth, wrought from sacred mysteries… and proof… against the forms and modes of death more fearful than any kenned by mortals.

And then, when I was absolutely naked to my core, along the starry routes our dreams had somehow woven, her soul flowed into mine.

I shall not make base what followed with meager words — for in silence is all beauty born.

And in such silence… sealed.

The Whisper.

The Mirror.

The Pool.

The Fountain.