Must I tell you about her locs,
That dance with the rhythm of her hips,
Watching their twist, and turn – a testament
To the tangled thoughts in every strand, a reflection
Of the tender care she donates upon her hair.
And would I love to keep a lock, and key
To her locs, being a LONG story in itself—
Free, vibrant, and unapologetically bold
The sunlight catches the rich hues of her hair;
Tales of her heritage, struggles, and her triumphs.
I swear, I promise; I must say...
Her locs are the echoes of the laughter
And tears that have shaped her journey.
Feb 20, 2025
Feb 20, 2025 at 12:25 PM UTC
Must I tell you about her locs,
That dance with the rhythm of her hips,
Watching their twist, and turn – a testament
To the tangled thoughts in every strand, a reflection
Of the tender care she donates upon her hair.
And would I love to keep a lock, and key
To her locs, being a LONG story in itself—
Free, vibrant, and unapologetically bold
The sunlight catches the rich hues of her hair;
Tales of her heritage, struggles, and her triumphs.
I swear, I promise; I must say...
Her locs are the echoes of the laughter
And tears that have shaped her journey.
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