Shinku, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.
...
I am thinking of aurochs and angels, the secret of durable pigments, prophetic sonnets, the refuge of art. And this is the only immortality you and I may share, my Shinku.

Her seraphic blue pupils stare pensively into her nearly empty tea cup.
"More tea, Shinku?"
I asked, but those words were merely for superficial formality. I innately understood from her expression that she was willing to accept my hospitality.
I grab the tea kettle and stretched myself over to pour its pale brown liquid into her cup. Her face remains unflinching in the process. I prepare myself. With all my might I fixate my eyes on her. One could slay me there and I would not budge an inch.
A few moments pass, and she became aware that her cup has been refilled. She heightens the cup to her mouth. She then closes her eyes, simultaneously tilting the cup and slightly arching her head to let the essence of Oolong flow accurately into her rosebud lips. Soon she is satisfied and reverses her refined movements. The sculpted ceramic upon landing on her plate emitted a soft "clank". Her air of elegance, sophistication, and grace lingers in the atmosphere. She resumes her wistful gaze into her cup.
I absorbed all that wonder. An orb of tears escapes from my right eye. This is what my heart, my soul, yearn for everytime we meet here in our sanctuary, my sanctuary, at some transcendent dimension of space and time reserved exclusively for us.
I have found my bliss.
My Shinku.