"He even went so far as to jump on my bed and do a little saunter 'round me." Wonderfule line.
I see we've gotten to Cat's Cradle, that was quick? Your'e as fast as me. (Busy, Busy, Busy.) 
I thought the exectution of the story was with little flaw, some grammer and reaarangment of strtucture is necessary and maybe a touch more action. I don't know love stories, or existential love stories, as this seems to be, I must admit.
I liked the way you described the lonliness of love. Aldous Huxley did this well I'll quote him here for you have done a similar thing with your introduction and first half.
"We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies — all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes."
You could see the autobiographical nature in this quite clearly, which is always present in all writing. Maybe a touch more subtle on that.
I love the turn after the arousal on the 'new age' and how accurate we hope in our hearts, us psychics to be, and my only real other critique before I got to the point where you described what you thought death would be like was the language lacked punch. Lacked someone grabbing me by the balls with forceful language , not a muse, but a warden, a zen master whacking me on the head with his stick as I fell asleep during Zazen: THIS IS BEAUTY, FUCKHEAD! REALIAZE WITH EYES WIDE OPEN.
That statement did just that for me, it was the first truly ballsy and negative balance in the piece up to this point. I'd quote it but mediafire won't let me quote anything and I've not time to write it out because I'm late for a date with the loony bin. We need more of that language in this piece, to balance the romantic tongue.
"A hip flask was strapped around my side."
Story turns from a poem about lossed love to a rebirth in consciousness. A bit optimistic for some, but not for me. You're dreaming my dream for me, but we're too similar for our own good in a workshop, me thinks. I'm done complimenting the story, but now I'm here only to critique the structure. The bare bones, as it were.
Sorry but I couldn't find it. I loved the turn from romance into fantasy in a single nights sweeping dreamlike motion.
Wait - I'd have preferred more dialogue, but I'm a freak for good dialogue. You'd have to use it very carefully, almost surgically as not to detract from the emotional leanings. Many places throughout made for good spots to introduce even the subtlest of interchanges, the techno lounge, the bedroom, etc. Again, it was so poetically driven the dialogue may even detract from it, thus my caution to use it with subtetly if at all.
Thank you for an enjoyable read, and bless your heart for quoting my favorite bokononist saying.
This was certainly no pack of 'foma'.
