Love scrolled out, a continuing, an unraveling of our fortunes, etched on those stones, the figureheads of our past tossing pebbles to follow on a road that snaked and wound and in this, year of the Monkey from Serpent, you culminated sorrow and I imagination , and the follicle of pen in paper, those tense fibers, wound in belief, and a whiff of magic, brought us to Eden, tempted not with the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, rather enlightenment and a deep dedication to our souls, now linked cognitively, for already linked in foregone days, completing, not competing, in metal, the alchemy of our birthright, encircled, clasped beyond mortal words, our rising moon, 365 times risen, on this day, a wandering freedom, a search for better, we found us, and wound in trust, we shed our skin, and began
