Your hair is like a poem

Your hair is like a poem,

It flows from your crest,

It curls in a cadence.

It falls from your shoulders,

Its tiny feet dangling,

Dancing to the rhythm

Of your head moving,

Beating like gentle waves

Against the beach of your back.

Brushing across your face,

Opening,

Closing,

A curtain before a show,

A recital before a play,

Preparing the passion,

Announcing the drama,

Brush it away

And let me see.

Philemon

Philemon paws at the glass door, 

Answering what call? 

No cat no dog no bird to catch, 

Going against his own self? 

Up against the pane, 

Reared and aroused. 

Bring him a toy of fluffy felt 

And he’ll forget the mirror world, 

No lure no mates no more.