The daughter of the lion, smiling,

boldly winks an amber eye and (with subsequent kindness) ensnares sad sea-goat like ancient flies enmired in amber.

     More kindness,

Balm of Gilead, sought so long in solitude, and conversation among volumes old and new; saccadic glances and one reveals self (a bit).

     Lunch in a cold cafe, surrounded by beings who do not exist, affirming affirmations; becoming strangers less. A touch, accipetral.

     Then - fantasy relinguished, actuality confronted, rewarded by acceptance. Thus, negating anxiously rehearsed excuses and lamentations.

     Anticipation.

     Undine, gracefully traversing a candle-lighted room, seats herself among strangers, gently accepting blatant adoration.

      Milky flesh enhanced by midnight blue, revealed to be enamored of the sea, the lioness sups on succulent, roseate crustacea and Chablis, yet remains

      Enigma.