Hair Brush

It fits in your palm
like flesh, 
its firm plastic handle
the color of his skin.
Its bristles tingle
your scalp,
pass through your hair,
your tresses
like fingers of a lover.
Remember how he eased 
that new word 
across his lips: golden
tresses, giving you
the beauty of your hair.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2005

Poem

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