My vision of him has not even been conceived, though my love has already been born. Young and fatal it is. Though time will bring on maturity, spaces will be cast out. We exist on separate planes that intersect at some point. This was one of the first poems written for me by one of my deadhead girlfriends. Her name's Christine, and she lives in New Jersey. Christine, if you're listening to this, I hope that you. Your rainbows are cosmic and your clouds iridescent