Black ruffled waves crossing,
sweeping over the crinkled eyes and the
mysteries that hide there
Childhood is remembered when one brings a comb
to the head of
this lovely excuse
for an animal
Describe it, disguise it, dye it different colors
simply to
feel
real
I spend my days dreaming of softly ruffling, slipping oily tips into the ocean of black waves
Your roots and ends are worth too much,
I should shave it all off while you sleep
and keep it in a bag to smell during days that you are absent.

And when your attic gets chilly and lonely,
I will glue it back on and we will rejoice,
won’t we?
We have no need for hats yet,
and we won’t until you are scared of dying
On sad days I want to run my hands through it
and live in your scalp
where everything
will be soft and sweet--sweat smelling
like in a cave that is never dark
or frightening