Imaginary you! You are not what
I think. Phantasmagory at the focal
points of my desire, you subsist till
tricks insomnia has taught
me drive my private sides of you from thought.
I see through you. I know that, mine, you will
not be mine. So let this vade retro dispel
your daemon, fetching figment I wrought.
And you, imago, inexorably
assuming her aspect.
You are the finer of the two.
She disappoints, leads astray. She
always refuses to stay perfect,
imaginary, intangible you.