It is only hair, only your snipped hair
that has quieted the madness of your
mad tangle, your unbathed stench
fermenting under layers of black
it is only hair love, snipped hair only - that
I watch fall around your grey, slight curves
frantically gravitating into the folds
Of the floor, because gravity works fast.
Only hair that you have
Begun to accept the absence of,
and learnt there is more anatomy
more lust more more heart in ear-lobes
gone waxy covered in
dizzy dry curls and
in your baby side-burns often left
unnoticed. It is all lust, all heart.
Hair like yours, only snipped hair that causes
Your eyes to wildly gleam at the
Thought of a cigarette in your hands,
Maybe a glass of whiskey, in a disco-cab
Racing to the beach.
It is hair, snipped hair in the sea,
That is being carried away to the
amused horizon, the myth
the sea created to escape?
It is hair, just floating hair,
that will swim till late-afternoon
like your salwar-kameez
like your peeling skin and
your burning nail-paint.
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