In a DVD case but we only stream;
wrapped around a fork in the kitchen drawer;
in the cereal box;
in the pocket of a jacket it’s been too warm to wear;
in a sock;
floating in my water bottle;
trapped in the button release of my car’s sea belt;
snaking its way through the letters of my keyboard at work—
I find strands of my lover’s hair
everywhere, always perplexed by their travels.
Sometimes, I even find strands in my **** crack.
It’s always unnaturally long
embedded unnaturally deep
and I pull and pull like some magician
with his endless length of tied together handkerchiefs.

If I had trichophobia, these little surprises
would be unpleasant, jarring encounters.
But even in food, my lover’s hair is not cause for panic.
And while these appearances can be baffling,
I’m less perplexed about how they got here
than about how we got here.

Sometimes love is a hungry wolf,
I was the sacrifice to its appetite.
I cannot deny the despair of a heart broken
just one too many times. I was shattered.
Doubting my worth, I traveled to Vegas,
placed bets on never finding love again.
I don’t believe in gods or fate
but I cursed them as if they were listening.
I gave up.
Loneliness was my only partner.
I’d walk him to the park, push him on the swing.
There was tar over my eyes,
I saw only darkness and despair.

Against all odds,
someone with long hair wiped my eyes clean.
She made me lose by bets and I’m okay with that.
My loneliness wanders the park wondering where I went.
While I still don’t believe in gods or fate,
daily I thank them, anyway.
When strands of her hair present themselves
unexpectedly, I can only smile, gratefully.
Someone wants to be around me enough
that parts of them sneak into all facets of my life.
I still do not know how we got here.
But like a stray hair, love
can be found in the most unlikely of places.