There is a strip of flesh just beneath her breasts that calls to me from across the ocean of night. It sings a song that no one else would ever know, and try as I might to block it out, it picks away at my brain giving me the itch. And boy, is it one itch that can’t be scratched, for no amount of sidestepping or alcohol ever comes close to dousing its flames. In her arms and upon her belly is where I call home, which is why I come undone whenever she moves out of reach. And yet for the life of me, I wish it wasn’t this way, for she ruins me. She lifts me up then kicks me down which is why I do my best to escape her grasp until the inevitable happens and I cave in yet again. Us humans, how petty we can be. How much we think of ourselves. How dim we shine when compared to the wonders of nature we seem so intent on destroying. And yet as much as being a part of this race leaves me feeling nauseated, and as much as her touch can never be trusted, the alternative is of little consolation, for the alternative is one of an existence without magic. And never again do I wish to return to that plain. If only I could be the sandman and hold her every time she closes her eyes without feeling her ire. If only I could pull her into my dream and reveal all that bubbles inside of me of which I’m afraid of painting for the outside world to see. She pushes and pulls. She kisses and spits. She swallows and chews leaving me a mess, only when I recover, she comes back around and does it to me even more.