Haikus II

Your bright eyes wink light
from across the dark dance floor,
you flirty firefly.

Fresh cut cucumbers,
the smell sweet and crisp and close:
copperhead’s warning.

Fingers tap-dancing
like the Fool along the cliff;
texting while driving.

The Venus of Willendorf,
her horizons swollen and comely;
pregnant with pagan tumors.

Honeysuckle hints
at Springtime love and first kiss,
a season short-lived.

Scented with Summer
of sun, grass, flowers and sweat;
our romance was heat.

Autumn winds tear
at the forest’s bold colors;
a jealous lover.

It suffocates me
like newly settled snowdrifts,
your Wintry silence.

It is a fickle franchise
packaging life in fast food servings;
the enterprise of haikus.

You should shelve these dreams away
like a typewriter in an attic
full of dust and webs and wants.

Collect pretty images
with a lepidopterist’s needle,
pinning them down as poems.

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