When I first envision you,
you are no more than a few pretty words -
so raw I could toss you in a stew and boil.

You have long, midnight, spiraling hair;
skin so white you can hang with dwarves
and sing - oh, yeah; some sweet melody.
Tori Amos is your philosopher,
and we have China in common
as we first met at a sixth street New Year's party.

Not once, did I discover that your eyes are green,
but soon, I know your favorite dress is blue,
exotic enough to lure everyone into chasing you (the rabid dogs).

Jealousy would lead to fights and tears
and half-hearted break-ups and career moves to
what? New York? Only love and hate
could drive you away from Texas,
where you still insist Stevie Ray Vaughn roams like a bat
in Colorado River twilight, strumming his brother's guitar.

But it all, inevitably, comes into focus, when one night,
both of us returned to our makeshift roots,
satiation will fall up into cloudless skies
and I will remember the final culmination
of life brought meaning in you.
You, on past reflection, ah,
well, you may remember nothing, for all we care.
It will be of little relevance to this
present lived in the future
(which shall be forgotten as soon as you have forgotten it).
The only significance is me hiding
in your breath, floating into the stars -
the oblivion of tomorrow.

Ah, but your story begins and ends like this -
with what simply amounts to the casual tragedy
of me, awake, in the morning
sipping OJ and reading the sports section.

Remember
ghosts of bluegrass music
and vampire bats
are like you are like this poem is -
only imagination.