Three Haiku

Pretty people pressing black-dressed smiles
Against snow-quiet music.
Cuplike in the dusk, nothing is said.

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I will drink your willow bark tea,
Read my faults in the lines of your face.
Sweetened with honey, the bitter dregs remain.

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In the Basilica parking lot, with nothing but your new
Garter stockings on, we are building our own monument.
Already, a ruin more glorious than the Parthenon.