Written early Sunday morning December 6, 2025

Hair

The lone night light felt purpose initiating the delicate abstract shadow play toward Her,

Resting hairbrush. Detached brunette proteins, 3:34am.

Submissive stray strands, clogged and bound, keratin leaking aimlessly.

Across the gulf of the sink lay His prostrate comb. Three short hairs pinned, left behind.

The mirror above can’t look down, still tired from all the held and released reflections from the days work.

A single curved hair from Her brush appears to be reaching toward Him.

Their oiled attached hair nuzzled under the warm pillow just yesterday.

His black comb face down, the longest hair looks like a leg trapped under a car.

The dark humming floorboard heater plinks once up to them. I see you two.

First light, first tinkle, first flush, first stretch, first sip.

Discarded.