I’ve never much been one for sequels;
I’d rather keep our happy ending
as dried ink embedded into the page,
permanent.  

So tell me that we have already slain 
our share of the dragons, my love.
Promise me that from here on,
our story will be so boring
as not to be worth telling.  

and then tell it to me anyway.
Tell it to me every day, let us
whisper it like a bedtime story.  

Then let our pages crumble to dust.
Say, “and they lived…”
and let our stories end in silence,
in peace.