Wet Curls
Wet curls
Begging a wish
To touch them.
But for the mist,
White wool over eyes.
We saw
The haze went up the gorge,
Stroking the pines of Mawkdok,
And desperate
To hold your hand, I
Kept the commandment.
What shall I do in heaven now
Without your moist locks?
Pears blossomed
In pure white detachment,
But you took their pictures,
And I preferred to trap
Your wayward ways in my fingers.
What shall I do with blossoms
If I can't fasten them to your hair?
Camellia flowers in flames
Burned our eyes in the evening,
The western horizon cremating the past
Where we could have been.
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