It’s always a loop – love. Echoing in the chambers. Her name tattooed across the night by a drunken fool who lurches into front gardens, disturbing foxes and dustbins, for some unrequited romancing and a bit of dodging father’s shoes. That name will never be smudged and the fool remains a fool, to chew on…
Day: September 29, 2020
Morning Haiku – 79
Wisps of fog Haunt the curling river Shivering the bulrushes.