Hushed Willows [m] I'll grow bitters on the borders of your whistling skin

she embraces him and he all but melts into it, a pile of ashen pelt as his face finds the space between neck and shoulder. he stays there, for a while, squeezing her with strong arms and waiting for the tears to subside.
i love you so much, he says it muffled once, then twice; and then again, clearly, as he pulls away to kiss the space between her eyes. there was so little for him to say, so much that now flooded him in an overwhelming splendor, and all he could manage was a quiet; thank you.
he loved her. he did, he did, he did.