Punky Fu

We started the evening obsessively trying to break down the musical compound into its chemical ingredients. A dash of Sexy Sadie - a pinch of Watching the Wheels - add You never give me your money and stir. I brought provisions for two and a half - needing to replenish from long bouts of immune boosting. As we ate, she periodically moving the coal about the shisha. I had ordered Take Out and we sat in dumb relief that we weren’t biking in his seat.

Up for intermission - sweet plunging relief - a dance undanced for days, now consummated and consumed. The boundaries of ecstasy were bridged and pushed beyond. So much so that my PCBE (Post-Coital Bed-exit) was extraordinarily graceless and I left a sweaty stain on the wooden floor.

Back down again - a TOS moment when she lamented the world and I summarized. Spock said: “Captain, you exist as a concept in other people’s minds, and get angry only when they try to force you into their stereotypes.” We would talk, watch, talk again. Her face itched where an amazing lack of scar tissue itched with repair, although she felt inclined to ice it again.

Despite our best intentions the night evaporated into a single moment of bliss and the morning came all too soon. Despite our times together - every second is precious and amazing… of course, she’s completely the reason - my beautiful, sweet Dreamer of Dreams.