heart
“The path to my heart,”
she writes on the table cloth,
“is not a straight line.”
Like the drunkard’s walk I stumble in the darkness from street to curb, from highway, to avenue, to lane. It’s not the drink, but the moon and stars that blinded my eyes, and turned my head around.
Are you close?
Missed Connections are filled with good, bad, and meandering-paths-haiku. Did you write one? Did you find one? Before you accidentally stumble into dangerous territory, email the link to Lovelorn Poets. We’ll preserve those circuitously-constructed-syllables for all eternity.
