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The pretty girl with the new hair
The time is coming closer,
“Are you sure he want to talk to me?”
“How’s my hair? Where’s my stock broker?”
But, they only tell me not to worry.
There’s intention on his meticulous lips,
as the pounding in my head turns to a gentle vibration.
Though, I no longer worry over these conflicts;
It’s not his first attempt at confrontation.
So, I drown my tears with hope.
The happiness sharpens my cheekbones.
It’s colder at the top of the ski slope.
Time tends to talk in a hurried tone.
So, we shake hands and he compliments my hair.
His forward-looking has me in a backward stare.
Well, the red punch bowl sits obediently by the popcorn.
And, when I turn back, he’s headed for the door.
But, I labored for this,
And, I’m sure he noticed.
And, I did not desire to have any regret,
So, I followed him quickly, unknowingly to my death.