On Being Asked to Say Brunette More Beautifully..
Your hair is the highest form
of chocolate, the ironclad
arguement for dishevelment.
When wet: Mississippi mud.
But thicker, richer.
A thoroughbred this color
could never be sold.
Cash should be
this color. And cocaine.
The driest tobacco, cloves, blood:
poor pretenders all.
At a cafe table, in sun, you read.
A woman behind you
spills a few drops of black coffee-
where it falls, your hair lightens.
I want to live at the exact
undersea depth where the spectrum
consists of this color alone.
You run, full-tilt, trailing
a riverine streak darker
than the bark of Eden's trees.
The world's deepest thing
is the color of your hair.
Thought it the prettiest thing with my wine .. Didn't write, wanted to share.. mwah!
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