The moon haunted the room through its raw voyeuristic glow.
As she wrapped her bare legs around his frail torso she spoke at a tone that tickled his neck. The only thing he could keep in his failing body that day was a humble cup of yogurt. Minutes bled into hours that she rubbed his cold shoulders. They laid naked together with tubes in his veins. 

 The air in the room held the familiar  scent of a summer night. This night was a good one. No blankets damp with tears, or shallow breaths that punctuate eloquent apologies. Only the two meandering through distant memories. He closed his aching eyes and rested his head in her lap. 

Vertigo took hold of her as she looked down upon him. He was an asphalt flower trying to break free. He spent his days using a meager palette of activity.  Staring at the hospital ceiling he inconsolably searched for a crack. For hours he laid still, violently thinking. 

Then, beyond the shadow of doubt came the orchestration of happiness. Dopamine hit a  crescendo  at the cue of eureka.
 
He outwitted death. 
He realised he could succeed eternal rest by living forever in her. 
The simple loophole of death:
 love.