It's 3WW time, again.
I am just out of the operating room and rather groggy from the anaesthesia.
Capricious (fickle) fates have revealed sparkling wet bits through new, precise, surgical wrinkles; crescents that I have been assured will go away.
I told them I would, too.
So they upped my anaesthesia.
I'll spare you the details, but the nurses were amused and the anaesthetist was startled.
I likely should have told them that I have a propensity for waking up mid-surgery, although one would presume that the various surgeons and specialists would share these amusing bits of trivia amongst themselves.
This week (CXLIII) the words are fickle, sparkle, and wrinkle.
Further, each haiku gets its very own American sentence title.
Love broken, made, or found must be hinted, hunted in seventeen soundsthe wrinkle in loveis not fickle luck or fatewhen eyes sparkle, wet
Earth science alchemy: liquid fire transforms to cool obsidianfickle magma popsbubbles, wrinkles, sparkles black;broken fire in stone
Gieves and Hawkes, Hugo Boss, Armani (the fates)... iron out our futureDull steel sparkles hot;wrinkles' destiny is flat.Fickle fashions fate