Straighten it up and let it down to
Flow around in a very small stream
Around your collar bones above the
Seat of your emotions - without
Heat no one's digits will be able to
Run through it without tugging on the
Follicles releasing strands into the hands
Of the man's palms you would kiss
If it wasn't tangled in a mass of tresses
Pressing against your neck stopping the
Breath escaping through parted lips
Pursed into a pucker - p-p-p-p
Puffing out the last signs of pleasure in
Being taken in even if just through a
Brush's teeth.
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