Today I saw myself
within a rippling pool
my image a cyanotype version
of something inside,
something just below the opaque
reflection, so I get on my knees
offering my hand, I reach in deeper
into the cool depths of the liquid
and recoil it in shock,
my hand and brow moist with revelation,
there are some things
I would rather not remember.
I have noticed that I started a two of the previous poems with a description of hair. I love hair, maybe it is because I have a mom who is a hairdresser, but to me, there is nothing like feeling soft hair on freshly-shaved skin. It has a huge emotional attachment for me, I am afraid that I will someday fall in love with a girl simply because of her unusually soft hair.
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