Yesterday curved like a woman’s hips.
I tumbled with the decline. Purposely.
I was a fool for getting too close
To the edge where friendliness
And awkwardness intersect.
I blame myself for misfortune’s soft slap
On the cheek–where I had hoped
A kiss would have been placed instead.
Loneliness is winter’s wind bursting
Through the trees and pushing me along.
There’s nowhere else left to go but home.
A. J. Hayes
Give a poet a pen