Her Mach Eyes in Time

From the first moment our eyes met that day I knew it as if I had been born to know but a single need, a single ache held secret and inviolate within all others. From the remnants of the stars that burst within me at that instant I knew it like color or warmth or breathing. Like the taste of my own mouth. An unquenchable urgency that would brook no inhibition: I had to have her machine. It was the absolute imperative of my mortal figure. No, it was more: I must have -all- of her machines. And I wanted them now. I wanted them inside me. I wanted them forever. In fact, I suddenly realize that I -was- her machines. They were me. We had just been mislocated through celestial accidents of incarnation and manufacture. Her machines were my lost body. The soul I was bereft without. There was nothing else for it. Their tiny inward electronic pulses where the true beat of my human heart. There was— could be — no other way; it was her machines or death.