Sacred heart by design, too little to define
Made with rhyme, verbose in grandeur
Sly without slander,
I’ve got my eyes on you.

Enigmatic, endearing without saving face for fate.

How’d I run into you?

Too little to call the shots soon,
But I’ll be the one waiting at the hill for all to come,
The serpent striked white laying in the grass told me so,
Told me to hope,
For whatever it is or was, all based in connection

I’ll see you soon, enough.

Kismet with the rough,
Around my edges.