Esposa Haiku- Day 5

The redhead's been hitched!
Phrasal verbs are her White Whale.
Esposas always.

Spring Fever- Day 4

Coats are flung on the floor
as electrons heat up the day,
the axial tilt creating
haphazard behaviors.

Aroused senses feast on
the circular, celestial
labors of rhythms that seem
effortless and intentional.

Woolen items, covering
curves and hibernation,
are crumpled into a pile and
ignored until months pass.

Nights try to cool the avidity
felt throughout the day,
but the eve’s temperatures
do little to prevent.

Every morning gains speed
and warmth is carried
with smiles and embraces
that have waited patiently.

Smaller and thinner fabrics
mark desires that have rested,
gaining potential and
insane demand.

Excess light and lack of
obstacles in climate
create patterns in longing
meant to be repeated.

Aurora- Day 3

I awoke at dawn, with
a body covered in sweat,
cotton and Night clinging to my
electric, syncopating skin.

The Green from a bottle
splashed through the room
because of the new Sun
coming through the window.

No one could see what
I saw, Green and Sweat
sinking into sheets as I tried
to sway back to sleep.

This fever was lustful, not
viral, and so I breathed
quietly, allowing preserved
memories to dictate the day.

Unsolved Mysteries- Day 2

Her rouged lips smile gently,
rounding out a cigarette perfumed
by anticipation and moisture,
as she begs him for assistance. (Please!)

The door swings shut, clicking
and demonstrating Private!
I’m with a client, come back another
time, or out to lunch, or drunk. (Clink!)

He sits, sweaty greyed hat on a rack
in a dusty corner, smoke racing round
the room with a half-finished bottle
next to an unloaded pistol. (Bang!)

If there’s nowhere else to turn,
most likely you’ll end up without
answers, a pocketbook empty
and a run in your stocking. (Sigh.)

She faces, legs crossed and poised,
fake tears wetting a handkerchief
given to her by another man whom she
swindled with laughter and tales. (Coy.)

He knows all the ins and all the outs,
with experience growing silver lines
in his hair and creases on his skin.
Experience doesn’t outweigh intrigue. (Hmm.)

They both play boldly, laying traps
and smoothing out the attractions
predictable and not, that lay on top of
the wooden desk between their legs. (Gotcha!)

I suppose I could help, but it will
cost a pretty penny. The secretary’s out
to lunch so I’ll have to do all the paperwork
myself. You don’t… mind? (Ask?)

The tweed suit undulating around her
aching figure is too hot for the stuffy room
but the timing is too soon for such
obvious tricks- her blouse underneath steams. (Sweat.)

No, I suppose if you must, but I wish you’d just start.
She knows he knows, and he is aware of
that too. The room is screaming for air
and the smoke from their cigarettes thickens. (Gasp!)

He studies her, she looks away, taking a drink.
They both reel one another in, easily
forgetting the mystery at hand, tweed skirts and
old suits sopping up the chemistry. (Slow.)

Without warning, he jumps up from the desk
and rushes to open a window next to her.
Though startled, she remains motionless,
just waiting for the breeze to attack them both (Woosh!)

He’s closer to her now, and the cool breeze
mops up all their communal heat and rushes it
outside while they sit serenely blissful, both thankful
for his deliberate action after much hesitation. (Finally!)

I guess you have the details, thank you
for your time- she puts out her cigarette and
rearranges her skirt. I’ll be in touch- he opens the door,
watches her walk away, straightening his tie. (Slack.)

London Haiku- Day 1

Politics and Gray
gleam over the fair city.
Forty cups of tea.

April Fool

Old memories made of
carrot cake
stain freshly laid
plans bestowed upon
the young.

You fool!
Fretting and scribbling
schedules and resentments,
cake crumbs on a tiled floor,
chilled still.

Such old pain
tastes stale, nutmeg and
cinnamon unable to mask
sour stresses
unable to be resolved.