Towards the Magic of Magik The candle of promise burns In the yes, again yes, and yes Of her smile touching mine. The easy explosion of intimacy Astonishes the monk within me. The shroud of maybe left behind Is not missed by me or she, And I gambol on her dreams, Amble star-faring beside her. I crave poetry in trees Written with twenty-two Different colored pens. I will snatch the apple of closeness And expose with her The pentacle of our delight.