She and I, we lose our clothes, and our masks. Shedding shame on the altar of love; our bodies fuse, wishing we were never two.

“Take me,” she says, “I am yours”. And then, she consumes me whole; I exist no more. Who belongs to whom? We are now one.

The wren and the small gilded fly. Almost Shakespearean. I chuckle at the thought before we die and are reborn, all in one moment.

Now, as I lay with you in my arms, hearing you breathe, watching your breasts heave, smelling you and tasting your sweat, I dissolve. We are now one.

Consummation.