in the morning the sun
is pink in your hair, in my
hair too. the dry frosted 
grass has more life than
you think. we’re like
black cows yawning
on February dew

we can’t ever just 
touch, especially
when we’re so blue
your neck bends, extends
a Picasso painting 
in my corner

I mirror my hair a waterfall
though it not yet spring 
could you please grab the scissors so I can be
a little pool of a pond, please?

could you please tell me
why i let it grow so long?

could you please cut it, cut it out
the dreamer girl is gone