What now, lies within it?
A treasure, rose bud.
Shining bright, waiting quiet
He knows, he wants, he craves.

Where then, can he find it?
She holds the key, my dear.
Raven haired, longing eyes
She waits, she longs, she hopes.

How now, shall he go about it?
With subtlety, bright daisy.
Soft whispers, muttered name
A house, a place, a smile.

How then, shall he reach it?
By cleverness, sweet child.
Key turns, door opens
The light, the night, the moon.

How nigh, shall he find it?
Through stealth, gentle babe.
Soft step, floating shadow
A box, a lock, a snap.

How heard, shall he escape it?
No escape, darling mine.
She gasps, he turns
Their eyes, their fears, their hearts.

What then, he does not hurt her?
Souls meet,  Butterfly.
Her kiss, his lust
In love, in dark, in moaning.

Sweet romance! Do they know it?
Love triumphs, soft angel.
Passion burns, a lantern falls
Their fire, their ash, their death.

No! Why? Could they not fight it?
Don’t fight, sunshine
True love, to die there
So whole, so perfect, so destined.

But wait, what of the box?
Fear not, mine daughter.
Look inside, to find only
Their love.

Happenstance
is what's really
happening

Happenstance
is how it all
once did occur

A moment in time
becomes a memory
without end

Chance encounters
with a special someone
along the way

Brilliantly designed random impromptu rendezvous
Casual and natural
Easy and planned

To see someone
there in person
And to know all
that they maybe
might be

A brief hello
How do you do?

Better now that I met       someone so wonderful

Exactly like you.

-R.

8.17

-LA

If a stupendous  thought
more often than not
let me mix her caldron
atop her stove there
my tomorrows work upon
a lover and a poetess
with genuine prognosis
only tailor-made suffice
another lovely evening immanent
she quenches my desire mag.

Darling, dearest,
Come out of the dark,
And into my heart
The sun has set,
The crowds are gone,
No longer I ought to pretend
That you’re only just a friend

The  ghost town yellow evening, I did wake up
in a dream, was strangely familiar, painted by him,
Vincent Van Gogh, in flames of creative fire, who else?
kept  it a secret, until I've stumbled in to, as if it's a well.

I fell in love with a girl in a yellow sunflower gown
on it were sea waves swirling in his signature style
in the blue sky, below her waist was  challenger deep,
I held her by the waist, like smoke in a flux, she swirled,
it wasn't in here and now, in the past or in future.

I wasn't present anywhere, just a thought sowed,
got embedded in her brain. This mystery of us,
Van Gogh's echo and the creative universe we did exist
wouldn't figure anywhere except when we meet.

Tuesday and Wednesday is a blur;
I have not slept in between
I do not have the luxury of
Having a rendezvous with my bed

Tuesday and Wednesday is a blur;
And you are its perfect metaphor:
Viciously fast and vague
But I know a vice when I see one

Tuesday and Wednesday is a blur;
I'm weeding vices out one by one
Like coffee and/or cigarettes,
You taste so good