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ODE TO A COMB
by Belva Green

Your image matches my fashion gown
Lifts my spirit; a potion for love.
My hand caresses your plastic crown,
Lingers on faux jewels, and moves on.
My mirror reflects a metal's gleam
and the glint of foiled, gem-like glass.
I raise your ornamental splendor
Enjoying enchantment, lest it pass.
Soft in my hand to delight my eyes;
Fingers, anticipate perfection.
What is this? They stiffen in surprise.
Unsightly, disgusting, broken prongs!
Imperfection, I cannot abide!
I stab your shame in my curls to hide!
Sighing silently...regain my pose...No One knows...


Lady Lilith (1868):Dante Gabriel Rossetti


NO TITLE
by David Hadda

Do let my hair Grow again, oh do!
I can't afford to have my brain Bared to the rain
Or chilling cold,
let alone
the sun's
sometimes
Relentless heat :
I need my thinking-gear
Well wrapped
To steer
and guide me
through the scenery
Of earth's astounding pleasure-ground
Before I am
into Your cuddling arms
-if not Your tender-loving-heart
finally
Homeward bound !


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