From a translucent cap,
fashioned from smelted Cretaceous bones,
pure, bleached-soaked locks unfurl
into lacquered hands.
It would have been better
to entrust myself to an alchemist,
who might change my matter,
than to find a Delilah,
who cuts away with her dark art.
I feel like you showed me this poem last fall, but some of the words seem different.
ReplyDeleteI like this one, perhaps even better than the last. It took me two readings to understand the line about Cretaceous bones, but I only had my hair dyed once, and that was a long time ago.