Atrocities, pain and loss watered down by the last iced libation tossed.
Sun-brightened poolside I testify my own shames and glossed-over accomplishments.
Stranger danger no longer a social cost.
In that moment, my essence is captivated by a pair of hazel green sparkled soul-catchers,
a fleeting glance,
an alluring stranger...Her soul says I look familiar and took a chance.
It has to be in this moment,
She calls to explore me,
but still has walls to ignore me, before I know the depth of this moment...an angel falls before me.
This unfathomable deep breath of chance,
she waves to shore me,
a hand to keep me soft from loss that has me off.
She looks past my conditions.
Lips betwixt, hips bewitched, this mysterious mistress in my time by the sea.
She, like a siren, calms me,
gently calls me witness the start of a new day.
Her freeness bonds to me,
I can't stay away.
Freckles on every inch,
her long lines, auburn waves and soft smile,
struggling to touch as much of us together as can be done during a clutch and clinch.
My heart's guards throw down their arms and abandon their post.
I am left with all the things I want to say about how I feel and who you are and what matters most.
This shall not be and does not come to pass.
We stay up too late and drink to much.
Our hearts are silenced by the coast.
We know so well who we are,
and can see we will not break our own hearts to make it last.
Like two wildly different cut jigsaw pieces,
we fit together well,
but from them, the big picture of the puzzle,
still too hard to tell.
We don't believe the Tooth Fairy or Santa Claus exist, but that amazing first touch, dance and kiss was and did, none the less.
During this leeward part when the storm dropped,
my heart pressed against your heart, time stopped...
flew the sparks before the dark.
We left our marks, but in the end,
a pin drop and a bag full of question marks.
Because our lives, our hearts and our experience are so tightly rolled up into an abyss,
life has taught us we hit far, far less than we miss.
You never truly define what you think about me or how you feel.
And looking back, perhaps not me to thee.
I do know it was quality time,
was real time spent,
you were present...
I am still driven by your scent.
I only hope, for now, you smile a lot,
the time we spent is not forgot,
and all that was captured between us, remains caught.
For me, it was all that comes attached to 10,000 freckles, 4 softly-scented curves, two emerald-gemed soulcatchers, one spontaneous smile and a sunrise…
For me, that's a lot.

By R. Craig David-Copyright 2017

Sometimes when unsure souls are apart, hearts go dark,
finding bitter-sweet sorrow in the depart.
Unconsciously staying far away from "them and they" who filled and smashed then cast away our jars from back then to present day.
In all despite,
in a moment of might,
You walk into my sight,
Suspending the win of "them and their" sins.
It's effortless for me to give in,
the chase begins again.
In spite, it doesn't feel like a chase,
it just feels right.

Smile so sweet,
our eyes meet,
it's like a lightning strike...head to feet.
Hits me like a glowing, white hot flash of tingling electricity,
blinding bright,
striking right down from the heavens like a craggily branch of pure flowing energy piercing my heart and soul,
then surging through every electrical current-driven nerve cell my body holds.
I magnetize to the earth, unable to move, frozen in time…
Grounded as thunder following clasps in the distance.

Staring at your sparking seducing silhouette,
then hips,
then lips,
then surmising eyes,
then smile advancing pace towards me in the street.
A rare chance for us to meet.
The same Lightning strikes twice.
I feel the tingle spiring up to my face,
the sly and subtle serendipity strike setting the pace, the time, the place.


My fears are flushed,
I feel heat blush,
I wish you to rush.
Race,
closer to touch.
The instant innocent "Crush" is much.

You enter my personal space,
Smiling a mile wide.
You close in until my place is touched and encased by your hair softly falling around your eyes and face.  
Lightning strikes thrice.
I sense my helpless demise as my heart takes the stage,
Opening night,
Act one,
Scene one,
Cue the thunder.
Will I be undone in this serendipitous theater of surprise or hearts unwon?

Dropped from the highest point,
the largest stone smashes down and holds back all that once made me feel alone.
My soul runs unto to your connection,
our necks connect.
I smell your skin's convection.
Time alignment correction.
The earth is shifted.
My eyes naturally close as I fold into you.
My natural emotion is selected as I hold on to you.
all sounds drown,
our heads tilt down in concert,
seredipty conducts,
a symphony erupts into minutes as though everything I want goes through yourself.
So subtle is the soul-to-soul magnetism adherence, a transference beyond appearance.
Anticipating thunder,
the next minute of our meeting begins.

By R. Craig David-Copyright 2017

There was a smitten kitten, too hot to wear mittens,
whose conventions sent you over the moon.
She liked hiking tall towers,
sniffing lavender flowers
and smiling when tunes were crooned.

It is known and it's written,
many cats liked Smitten Kitten,
some still do to this day.
There were polecats, fat cats, tall cats, small cats and cats that were all work and no play.
There were fast cats, scaredy-cats and cats who only came out at night or the day.
There were even other kittens,
too hot for their mittens,
who loved when she'd come out to play.
All were fun,
had their day in the sun,
but none purred smitten kitten the right way.

It has been said and has been written that smitten kitten,
too hot for her mittens,
without pretense or condition,
had a purring penchant for cellar rats and precision in the kitchen.
In the French district downtown,
near the alleys by the Sound,
some nights she waits for one Ronin Chef,
for last time he left,
a tall and a tasty treat.
Smitten Kitten gives pause,  
relaxes her claws,
licking her paws...she wishes,
for his white wine-kissed elaborate fish dishes
and dreams of what next he will make.
Her tongue and mouth can’t wait.

Tonight it occurs,
he arrives...she purrs,
on the alley wall she curls up and takes a seat.
Endearingly peering through the window...she thinks...
"Whilst he stack his plates with mouth-watering innuendo?"
"Whilst he whip the spicy sauces and flames into a great crescendo?"
He begins...as so...
He chops and he flips sizzled serranos, hot on the lips,
and stacks seasoned seafood high on a plate.
His old radio is tuned
to a station crooning tunes,
twisting tongs and spinning spoons,
the One Ronin chef shoots for the moon.
The chef vigorously bakes and flambés,
stirs curds away,
hands so fast it's alluringly blurring.
He says not a word nor nary a chanced glance occurring.
Smitten Kitten's eyes glazed,
her mouth watering for "amaze"!
Food spins, is seared and is braised.
pots clambered!
hot buns glazed!
fruit hammered!
Sauces ablaze!
Bang, Boom!!

Alas it was done,
Her heart and appetite had been won.
And the chef began to tear the kitchen down and moved out of sight.
Suddenly she scampered and hid,
as a savory stacked plate was slid
carefully out the backdoor and out of the way.

The chef it occurs
had made it for her,
and her fur began to frazzle and fray.  
She sniffed the array of flavor,
her palette began to saveur,
the salt,
the unami,
the spicy and sweet.

It is said and is written,
from Smitten Kitten’s first bite bitten,
she remains stunned, amazed and enamored, to this day.

It was a colorful town on the river down.
Full of promise, white fences, green fields and rainbow trout.
Pearl snap purple striped shirts and shiny silver belt buckles.
The sound of classic twang rang aloud from speakers abound...
Seeking ever-present pink cheek disguises and marigold sundresses,
Light's intent never bent by heaven-sent country curves so supple and round. Repent.

No surprises to speak of,
No stresses less be told.
No rumor-fueled chuckles,  
No sleek compromises,
No barely fair careless hot messes...Yet to unfold and demise us.
The night calls,
The sun falls,
the moon's face crawls high into the above dark space.
All is peaceful and quiet by the day's review and so defines this place.
On cue, old is devoured by new.
Dawn again.
So abruptly & suddenly skews the universe.
Every curved dress is swooned to pine and guess.
Roy G. rides in, out of the blue,
painting the whole town red,
in the yellow high hot of the day,
with a country mile bright white smile in kind
and black heart, leaving a broken heart pile behind.
Mr. Biv slips out in the black of night.
His indifference blinding beyond the spectrum of light.

by R.Craig David-09/2015

Part 1
When profound things leave us because serendipity seizes control and teases our soul,

few actually see it and believe in us....it takes its toll.

Our walls grow high...

Wise to all those sly predators that shared our space but ultimately never bettered us.

Likened to a wild bunch of criminals and nuns you sometimes share fun or lunch with,
then again spin adrift.

So we stay put...only peeling away the day-to-day’s fraying gray.

Though we have heightened steeliness to infernal charms,

We sometimes ignore internal alarms,

Oft' ending up-in-arms instead of in the arms of another.

Battling each curse from crib to hearse,
We continue to play anyway, but hold our cards close..
Somehow coasting on borrowed form and verse.

Still too afraid to lead with enormity.

Still too proud to follow in conformity.

We become shells and ghosts to project “normality”.

Still hoping for more,

Still revealing our core,

Still practicing what we’d say with one more chance to settle the score.

Refusing to sink, either our genius always on the brink of changing the world and more...

Or burning down and gutting out our current hideout and surrounding small town or place of clout.

Still reeling from the lingering devastation of past lackluster unreciprocated non-appreciation knockdowns.

To keep from being corrupt,

We fold our coldest stories up,

And box them up under a "never the right 'write' " pens and pencils cup long filled up.

Smiling a little, we continue through this long season's harsh climate.

Subconsciously buying "Dried" sage because "Rubbed" still seems to intimate.

Tragically tied down by the tiny tech gadgets flooding our data stream with faster updates;

All just to dazzle and daze us into a lazy malaise on our busiest of days.

PART2
More and more we wait.

The "what-if's" we contemplate.

The more we try to create something great, then hesitate, none too late

The more this inundating system of “Likes” rates you,

The less your gated fate or guiding faith makes you "you".

The less your justification or inspiration moves you.

Yet uncompromising and alone, you continue and make it through.

No one could ever guess from your crisp pants' fresh press. I digress.

Oddly, all it likely would take is one ego caress from soft smiling muse in sandals and a summer dress.

If you could only get this distress off your chest, fall hard for a new muse, give your defenses a rest

endure the re-birthing process and all the possible hot mess...then...

Never again would you have to guess or obsess.

The sheer potential magnitude of you at your best.

An open floodgate of uncanny, uncaddy personal success.

You would never again feel idleness or unrest.

But "who" you ask, would be caring, tough & daring enough,

willing to share all that stuff through such an arduous process, off the cuff?

Who has such pure heart intent, without the fluff?

A Muse who speaks out loud for you, never a mumble...

Is strong and humble, but not rough and tumble...

Who heeds the needs of your soul's rumble...

Who pulls the "new you" close while your old limits crumble...

Is fair and daring when you're sharing how bizarrely you sometimes raise the bar...

Joins your rare ****** to close down the bars while thoughtfully considering how fragile your scars are...

Who encourages you to shoot for the stars...

Sees the truth of who you were, hope to be and the screams in-between.

And by her sheer presence, becomes all these things for that new man and him alone.

Cause of she, he will achieve and be more than he could on his own.

Whoever that girl may be and until then,

I mend a tightly woven,

slightly broken,

rarely spoken,

unawoken caged soul for one more shinny token to spend on this world alone.

By R.Craig David-Copyrighted 2012

Cleft open by the very notion of your presence.
My heart is yours to do with what you must,
I trust you will satisfy your own heart...
Fame, shame or bust.
A most dangerous game, only myself to blame.
The beating of your bold heart's touch unfolds the cold rolled steel of my old soul.
Alas, grant me access and I will build a kingdom to house it.
The grasp of “At last” lapses and alas,
I’m cleft open by the very notion of your indifference.

Given the chance, I would advance all the love I have left in life.
My Love was once lost in rifely strife seeking a wife and the trappings of suburbanite life.
Fear not appeared knots fraught by my heart,
its was taught not caught so the pieces wouldn't fall apart.

Hesitate not! Be.
Plan not in fear. Be free.
Pity not those whose planned purpose perpetually perishes the thought of dreams.
I dream for you, of you, dream you may dream too.
I long for each moment that sees you gain strength.
It brings me strength.
When your eyes rise and size up my heart, may it bring you strength.
Don't protect your heart only to burn in
your own held back truths.
Fear not to question, correct, influence or encourage.
Hesitate not to say what needs to be.

My heart may be yours, but your heart is still your own....
yet to be given freely for reasons only to you are known.
Give me your heart and it shall inspire all my dreams.
Your eyes flutter away.
You do not stay.
My swayed heart left alone.

Cleft open by the consequences of your senseless indifference.
Steel replaces feel, soul rolls up again.
My dreams stay seamed together until fairer weather come.
My dreams are to build a kingdom, thy will be done.

By R. Craig David-Copyright 2010

Looking away from your eyes,

I realize the size of the rising situation.

In your eyes lie no lies

that give rise to despise or desperation.

I dare to compare anything unfair

with that glaring stare you wear.

Bright and full of wrong-less right,

their bright white glassiness contrasts the night.

Sincere fears rearing near tears

by the mere peering on clearly seen "dears" of yesteryear.

Eyes despising the realization of past situations.

Be bold and unfold your reservation.

Only good truths shall be told.

No lies spoken.

Old molds broken.

Sympathy and empathy and things causing the heart to flee.

Breathe.

One...two...three, lift your lids and see.

Hates once realized,

words you once despised,

glances once causing your very demise,

shall not be recognized in my own eyes.

If we again allow our eyes to close,

and the world around us slows,

and our instincts move us nose to nose,

we shall realize a sizable rising situation just arose.

by R. Craig David-Copyrighted 1998