Mane n' Tail

I dove face first into the pillow

until the last vestige of your Mane n' tail

melted my drooling bachelor-ego.

You said my accismus-inflection

sputtered out cock-eyed sentence fragments

like I was the God of revelry.

I did not think your trills were a cry for help.

Did you think the last bastion of your freedom

was the altar of my hubris?

Or did you think of yourself to be my candy striper?

When you whispered lines of the Sacred Feminine

I began to think that the divine watchmaker

was a dowdy. Especially so, when you shaved

your head when that walking-hard-on

kept hitting on you at work. I saw you dye your hair

every technicolor, and I will admit, my

preppy advances turned more eclectic.

I thrifted for a new cool that matched your hair.

Lying there, my face pressed in your scent,

I realized you would become my aesthetic signature

and I would die hip.