The Bedtime Of These Quick Mythologies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Liquor is almost gone,
As you are almost gone- my love,
Last rose from the butcher shop:
Giving your more developed friends better
Whiffs of your perfume:
In Colorado, or Spain-
In all the countries where there is yet art,
You remain its muse,
And video-games,
And roller-coasters, and otters-
Open positions at zoos in inland cities:
This is how I remember you,
Think of you, and dream of you outside in
Theatres of parked cars,
Huffing on the classes- squad mistress
To women with big breasts, but yours are the best
Those corpulent bouquets caracoled by hungry bees,
Pullulating so fatly on the stems,
Bending over doggie style, sudsy with toy rigs
In the bathtub- you couldn’t imagine how many
Fireworks we sold-
So many f-ing fireworks, and I dedicated all of it
To you,
And would still like to buy you just to know who you
Are,
And its almost the bedtime of these quick mythologies,
So where are you?