Delusions of reference

If most of those un-named things
Only exist in theory,
Please count me out
Of reality,
Please spare me
The quasi-translations
And the empty devices.

I won't apologise:
My heart likes to wander
After that
Only available
In my sleep;
She knows my distant memories,
Before and After
This life;

I search for something
That is not
You,
That is not blue,
That is made of
Nothing.

I must be a strange kind of pantheist –

With a Sagittal plane
That dips into a
Mirror-matter
Tea;
My letterbox-heart
Receives irregular
Prescriptions of
God's nucleic acid
Base codes,
Eden coated pills,
And rose briar scented
Love letters.