An image of that glowing future hangs, ominous, from the ceiling fixture. I see you there, gold plated principles drawn on the arm's breadth, Fiery tattooed stubbornness.
God, how I love you.
In your voice is the blue of dusk- sun's rays still warm on pavement. But it tastes like Buckley's in the mouth. Dreams of your vibrant spirit fade to grey. I caress a vision of another's face.