I want to know what your hair looks like in the morning, see it’s natural state of being.
see it for what it usually is, minus the blondes and blues I want to see what’s truly you.
rustled from the bed sheets, twisted in a million different directions, lose strands framing your face.

I’m curious to what your hair is like in the morning.
what it looks like in its comfort, un-staged and not dolled up to perfection.
I want to see how it falls freely, it’s assigned color shining proudly after being dipped in dyes,
curled and straightened and braided and parted.

I want to see it done by the night, styled by the pillows and the position in which you slept.
I want to see how rest and peace paint you in all your morning glory.