Unassuming Haiku Musings
Sweet Cheeks
Those sweet rosy cheeks— sorrowly parted cake-house, a boundless crevasse.
Department
Seventeen syllables, give or take a grievance. Small observations pressed flat and dried — the red pen mid-bleed, the morning mid-thought, the indignity mid-stir. The form is ancient and the complaints are modern, which seems a fair trade. House rule: say the little thing exactly, count the syllables loosely, and end before the feeling overstays.
Those sweet rosy cheeks— sorrowly parted cake-house, a boundless crevasse.
Inverse universe— in this mirror I'm immersed; and my good looks... cursed.
A kiss, insisted— the pestering persists, from grandma's puckered lips