After love, story wrote, but it was to her through which it came.
Intimate and open, naked in her trust, she sat with story as it showed. Word upon word, line upon line, paragraph into page, story wrote fluid and lyric as their bodies in the make: natural, finding, smooth and sweet, strengthen and strain of the climax height into denouement in the coming-down and fall of after-soar.
He watched her as she wrote, in love and admire of her Creating—art from inspiration—her making and giving of self beyond limit and end of only thought.
Then at end, story’s written and after fall of Creation’s soar—transcendence of the make—love-spirit still remained. Art into essence, one form into and other’s become, Creation’s call from one to next and back to first in new, inspired form: they loved beyond the story, strong in the Sunday Light.