if I were a haiku

 



there would not be
enough lines or
syllables to say
that which my
heart held for you.

but haikus are clever
and quick

skimming like water
bugs on the glass
surface of a pond

my tongue is broken
now

my pen has bled
out it's
ink

and I am not a
haiku anymore
then you were
a love story

the paper remains
disgruntled and
empty