This morning,
     I pulled a flaming string
           Of *****, ruby tinted hair
     From the inside of a sock on my floor,
     And in the shower,
          I found a single thread
               Of burning, stranded follicle
     Wrapped around the drain's grate,

Which struck me as odd,
     Because you've never step foot
     In my shower (as much as I might have wished),
          You've never even set foot in
           That bathroom at all,
     It was always too ***** to touch your porcelin skin,
          To by seen by your eyes or feel your judgement,
     But even so,
           I still find your hair everywhere.

This morning,
     I put on a shirt,
     One that you said held me half as nice
          As you ever could,
     And I thought of your words
     And I thought of your gentle touch as I plucked
          A lingering fiber of a lost flame flicker
     From the breast of my attire,

And another wriggling yarn undone
     Soaked in the end of a sunset
          From the interior of my ripped jeans pocket
     That still embedded the whisper of your perfume,
     Your hair was absolutely everywhere.

This morning,
     I stumbled into my car
     And sulked in the sun
          As a hair of yours relaxed
          Among the dust of dashboard features,
     And the sight of it
          Prompted my mind to wake,
          My hand to shift into gear,
          And my tired legs to throttle the gas.

This morning,
     The cars and trees and blank-slated faces
     Hazed together in a fuse of
          Gray and brown and all the other ugly colors,
     The colors of dead things,
     Which must have been why
           I drove to the cemetery.
     The gates, rusted and lonesome,
          Creaked a "hello",
          And the ground was frosty
                To my arrival.

This morning,
     I found a hair of yours
     Draped over the head of a stone,
     And that struck me as utterly odd
          Since you've never been here before now,

And this morning at work,
     My pants were covered in dirt
          From kneeling before you as the sun came up,
     But I didn't care,
     I had to come see you
          And ask you to keep

Your ******* hair to yourself.