A Strand (a love poem)

When I found her hair in the shower the first time,

my knees bent as if she left me a love poem.

I wrapped my hand around it,

like I would never let her go.

I watched another make its way down the drain

and realized I was holding it like

I understood she would probably go.

Knuckles white-red from grasping so tight,

her hair-poem made fists for loving.

I loved her before

I kissed her. Which is the hardest way to fall.

All heart. The way a balloon keeps filling until

it bursts. The way a robin’s egg falls out of the nest

just before it births flight. I swallow down the yellow

yoke of her, lick her words like frosting from my face.

One little hair and I am folded naked in the tub,

knees to my chest, water drowning my grin–

wondering if she understands how brilliantly she feels

or how beautifully she knows. I curl around her questions as if

the desperation behind questions have been answers the whole time.

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