the haiku of love

[sweetwater]

sorry i must leave now
i was almost impressed by the leaves of
floral pastimes and pastures

it created an almost likeable
mood for words and delicate things
like the interlude of an opera
at the house of heavy metal

stirring up the memories of last night
alone proved more costly on roads
whose destination begot of gatherings
in the leaving of mood and congregations
of chastity

she became more enchanting
as the stanza of surreal soup
flavoured the open sky
and clouds that sprinkled
space in the context of the ending
of space itself

looking for the horizon
seemed a wonderful pursuit
a place to put one's mind at rest
at not finding the point of no return

the railway cars chugged
like felicitous fellows
of letters
over cocktails

smattering in the glory
of upright positions
and sore backs

it was haiku offer gins
in absence of the inclination
or predilection

to divide the small offerings
in the numbered pattern

but i can be done
quite easily

i write haiku backwards
disseminate the voweled tradition
of mathematics

in symbolic reasoning and complaint
as if it lacked the taste itself of love
and questioned what love was
or what it intended itself as being

in moments of mood and low light
incense next to the window
as a slight breeze borrowed
the light of starlit sky

and a glass of wine
in a violin vase made of
ceramic

flickering candles burning
the absence of clothing
nude posturing as it were
naked and full of scent and being

hands that glide on the glib
of fortunate favouring
for quiet hands mingling
within the touch of each other

the loss of words
the complete absence of metaphor
the horizon dissipating
into the drama of origin itself

the sunning memories
of soft places lost in the losing
of conceptual bearings

as a treatise of remembering
vows spoken
names inscribed on lips
of meeting

drinking in the odd occasional repose
to refrain the haiku of love

[justwalt]