Maybe I could learn

to do that hair

thing, where you

wrap or perhaps braid a woman’s hair

together and then, what? Somehow

it’s curled around itself into a lovely sort of Danish pastry

design and you slide chopsticks or, you know,

pencils through it so it stays up. See,

then I could lean over, softly

press my lips to your downy nape, and close my eyes

and be happy

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