"the satisfactory"

She is a satisfactory.
She manufactures my content,
well-being and elusive peace,
in her well-meant and consummate
release, by cares she's given me.

I furnish iron will and raw material,
she takes them in and churns them
into finished goods, by flesh and blood
and sweat and something suddenly ethereal

- and both of us are satisfied
in what was made between, above,
beneath, behind - now side by side,
we breathe each other's labored breaths,
and spin them into giant sighs
and tiny grins, becoming shy

despite the business that we're in,
which shows no signs of running dry.