Waiting for a Call: Romantic Email Haiku

On Saturday morn,
she’ll listen passionately
for the sound of bells.

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Embers of the fire, dying: A revolutionary IMprov poem

The dying
embers of the fire
needed a little poke
to make the flames climb higher;

to avoid the smoke
that sometimes
climbs
into our eyes
and waters them
but, as we cry,
we are cleansed.
And the fire, stirred,
roars passionately again.