Last night I dreamt you washed my hair.
And there was Vermont gooseberry jam and moonshine in the air.
There was blood in my locks.
The gore stained my knee socks.
A white knuckle bandit came into my chest.
And ever since then I haven't been able to protest.
You put rose oil between my roots.
You sprayed oregano oil on my breakfast fruits.
And you fed me because I didn't want to.
Ingest the sentimental value.
The meaning that was made for contracting my muscles.
Loving it with axes instead of shovels.
Tending to the silk like a mother.
Spitting salty lies like a sister.
Never knowing how warm Georgia saliva could be.
Grieving my girlhood from Lost River to Tennessee.
And you still rid my hair of it's sin.
You still pulled my muscles into a grin.
I could never love you enough than when the water touches the fingertips.
Braiding my red hair like sacramental sanskrits.
