When haiku have kids.

I don’t know what the plural of “haiku” is, but I refuse to say “haikus”. I imagine, like geese, it could be “heeku”, or perhaps “haaku” or “hiiku” (but absolutely not “hooku”, which is obviously the plural for “hookah”). However, I’m going to go with the “moose” methodology instead, which remains “moose”, and which stands as a testiment, when combined with “goose” and its plural, that the English language really doesn’t put forth a whole lot of effort towards being consistent. And that’s exactly why I love it.

In any case, here are two haiku that I wrote. Afterwards, I decided I didn’t like them in haiku form (it was actually their choice and not mine), so from their loins sprung (that’s a really ghastly image) the poem underneath. Actually, haiku are hermaphroditic, but will rarely spawn anything but more haiku when left on their own. When two haiku spawn together, you’ll often get a poem. Haiku orgies often result in odes, ballads, sonnets in iambic pentameter, and children’s songs. Don’t look at me. It’s the natural order! Without further ado …

one

it’s not too late yet;
i want conversation past midnight and
to fulfill your smile’s promise.

two

you smile like moonlight.
fingers brush fingers.
your cheek is smudged with stardust.

it’s not too late yet

it’s not too late yet;
minds wrapped around distant angles,
long exposures drawn out and
sometimes so long that I become aware
of nothing but your presence beside me.

it’s not too late yet;
stepping back into the night’s
artificial flicker.
stars make wishes on our cities.
we hazard fingertips brushing,
too hot to be a holy palmer’s kiss.

it’s not too late yet;
as you smile like moonlight,
your cheek is smudged with stardust
and there’s so much time left to go.

it’s not too late yet;
i want conversation past midnight,
and to fulfill your smile’s promise.