My Haiku

I weep in my sleep.
on my pillow, a shadow
of my face remains.

Fragrant like napalm
tween bombshell's heady weapon
of Love's Fresh Lemon.

Wrapped in new couture
not lover's arms. Pearls, heavy
where her heart should be.

A singing Partridge
is sweet.  A Partridge as a
chicken is fowl play.