She's like a flame
And you hate the break of spring
It becomes apparent to you in the morning
After the sun grazes your cheeks
And you spot a dandelion in the field
But you hate it
Not for it's beauty, but for the way it makes you feel
It reminds you that you have to start over
And that each day is a new chance
But you hate that
Because yesterday her perfume was inside your lungs
And her cheeks were pressed against your chest
Her chapped lips were the only connection to had to the ground
But then she was gone like a candle had been blown out
Because she was a flame
But winter was over and she no longer needed to keep you warm

what fragments lay in stone and silent wait
for sunrise creeping stealthily through dark
to back-light marbled forms who knew Petrarch
truncated arms which strain to touch and sate
a cold and calculated yearning carved
in everlasting porous rock compressed
as otherworldly beauty barely dressed
they stand exposed and gorgeous, proud yet starved
to feast on passion's fragments etched inside
by sculptors long since sated, fed and dead
who pounded love with hammer, chisel, sweat
from abstract concept into sanctified
emotion pulsing from unbreathing stone;
stories bled from humankind alone

My boyfriend won’t cut his horrible hair
It’s quite a horrible mess
And it gives me quite a horrible scare
This I just must horribly confess

It takes hours to wash his hair
And hours more to get it dry
He resembles a tamed grizzly bear
And he doesn’t get just why

The tangles and knots cover his face
It’s practically impossible to see
There’s a boy hidden behind the space
Between the wild hair and shrubbery

I got him a comb to manage the terror
Before the stress gave me a stroke
But when he brushed it, I realized my error
When the comb I gave him, finally broke

I tried to introduce him to family
And it was a horribly embarrassing task
The scarcely groomed anomaly
Was what everybody talked about and asked

We went to the park and as we talked
A crow swooped down low
It sat in his hair and as we walked
It laid several eggs on the go

I finally had enough of his hair
And got a brand new lawn mower
How he’d react I did not care
His bushy hair days were finally over

When the monster mower growled
How my frightened boyfriend ran
As his hair fell off he howled
But out emerged a gentleman

He can finally see his face in the mirror
But there are hills of hair in the yard
I've learned skills of a master sheep shearer
But left my poor boyfriend heartbroken and scarred

Few are afraid to go to sleep,
But many are afraid to die.