her hair is remiss, it should be glad if i should see it, love it, or
cold cock it.
and if her hair was her heart it would be beating as if it were one length
of silk from being entombed. all along the road twirling by the yellow poplars
and smelling the salt from the ocean.
and if her hair was here, well, i would be smiling more and maybe more than that.
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