You are milk and honey beauty,

Flaxen hair that is not at all my type,

I’ve always been the kind to chase after dark haired men,

But you are roiling sunshine and pleasant sunburn washing over my skin.

Your hair, your hair,

I cannot get over these strands of protein that are technically dead cells

But spark me like a live wire,

You run your hands through it and I see mine doing the same,

Fingers trailing through waves of wheat and waist high grass.

With you, I am Holden Caulfield,

I want to be the catcher in the rye,

Spending my days tangled in the cascades of your hair,

My manuscript a stream of consciousness that circles around you.

I don’t wonder where the ducks go in the winter but where your mind goes when you sleep,

I lay atop your head, nestled in like it’s a down comforter

But I can’t sleep as I think of you

So I let my presence sink through your hair hoping you’ll dream of me.

How jealous I am of his red hunting hat,

All day it spends tickled by strands and absorbing sweat, its felt littered with dandruff,

Yet when it’s taken off it leaves its imprint,

And so I envy it still.

I want you to miss me when I am gone.

I’d reach for a golden ring, not on a carousel but for my hand,

I’d get kicked out of schools and leave fencing equipment on trains because I’m distracted by

thoughts of you

I’d hire midnight companionship to try and forget you then kick him out because his hair is

Red or black or blonde or anything other than yours,

I’d try to distract myself with museums and long for our history

I’d buy records to drown out your laugh and end up smashing them on the ground,

I’d wander New York for days and nights because the city never sleeps and neither do I and I’m

still orbiting your head like a moth drawn to the light your hair reflects,

And I would stand,

In a baseball field of dreams, and write poetry about you in green ink on my mitt,

Clutch it to my chest, and consider it my prized possession,

Carry it with me everywhere I went,

Make it the only thing that matters, and keep it safe as I let my body deteriorate.

I would lie on top of your grave as the rain poured down and everyone else left,

To protect you from the storm,

Just so that your hair would not get wet.

Winter 2021