Smiling at the pull of the pattern,
Riding the escalator up feeling something close,
Then it happens: "can I help you? " perfect blossom.

My guide , artist, painting, sweet carnival,
Brings me home to her blue and cream fishbowl,
Trembling fulfills my fantasy without a word:
Dewdrop nestling, hovering "I am the butterfly and you are the flower"

Hungarian princess emerged radient from the swamp,
Where betrayal, self loathing, naivete danced circles together.

She led me by the hand past Forever Living, past magnetism,
Light through the branches, afternoon anticipation‘s wind,
Moon phases, colors progected like a fast reel on her face.

I wandered before asking "what of my lonliness? " – what light and fun?
And the universe caught me in its crushed flower embrace,
Whispering hotly against my neck "and this, and this, and this."