I forgot his name - Wasn’t sure so I didn’t use it. And it takes the personal edge out of it - my barista - the man with a powerful coloured ink peaking out of his chest.

A dragon? I reckon. A way to display some majesty, some spunk, bravado, chutzpah.

Well, I feel it - feel him - my base is rumbling again - pleasure mixed with pain - its always this way when you are really gone. So much that my dreams create stories that make my insides turn - and my base rumble with the same sort of pleasure if you were naked next to me.

I walk the land in the morning to feel myself - just for a moment.

The day began on the mat - my dreams protected by a cheraphim and cherapham with emerald flaming swords and a sheath covering my fluid body. I was deeply protected by my guardian angels. And sometimes I must protect this wound - of abandonment and betrayal - even as sometimes I must go into it.

You shuddered me as you re-entered my world for a brief moment before you left again - I am feeling the reeling of Baba Yaga - house spinning on chicken legs - I am feeling everything and I am still alive. And still in love with you. Fuck.