poem(s) for hair

from crepuscular orations

down below us was the white-haired man,
it was obvious the white-haired government man was looking for him
he was the gray-haired man's creation.
And smooth her hair.
hairball lichen,
hair lichens
while ratting my hair pre-bun in the reflection with a gold comb
blond-streaked hair.
sun through streaked hair.
their little powerful hairs breaking off and injecting me in various places.
My haircut looks far better
after my hair dries a little,
murmuring into hair
I am ready to cut my hair short.
And he murmured into my hair,
did my hair up and
a new haircut,
cuttin' hair n' drinkin
there is a pile of hair on the naturalist book.
Showed off a new haircut
with the new power-short hairdo,
my hair fixed in back.
The overweight woman with that awesome short hair, highlighted blond
lips and curly dark hair
pretty hair flowed in the breeze of the window...
thick beautiful dark hair
handholding darkhaired tall boyfriend,
through hair
thick long hair
looking up sweetly through dark hair
he looks good naked and has great hair.
So hairy & toothless.
Long curly hair,
hairy, too!
I cried & pulled my hair in the shower
is it his curly aubergine hair?
long-haired, young.
My hair and the captivating sunlight of your glance,
a haircut for me.
His aubergine hair & scented breath & shoulders & neck...
pulling my hair & sobbing silent
this terrible longhaired hero
only in the identical hair & mustache beard zone.
my armpit hairs growing out, now,
his hair-covered body,
hair.
Let our hairs grow longer.
Hair pulled back,
like longhaired men.
Aubergine hair, if possible,
amazing hair
even hairy.
I need to wash my hairs.
the hairless undereyes...
the hairline behind sweet smelling ears...
hair excellent,
hair in his hands.
I have nothing but soft hair,
his hair in my hand,
and hair hidden.
Hair & beard in hand.
The dark hair.
my hair is a wild riot.
Every minute he'd kiss my hair.
but her hair looked amazing.
He has redbrown eyes like his hair
cut my hair off.

from momentos preciosas

The henna crept from my hair,
why not brag about hair.
My face inches from his dirty long hair.
A few people with that mangy horrible hair.
I had to let go of my purple sweater and haircomb...
he was the beautiful boy I dragged home by the hair
with her cute haircut,
The porcelain lid to a hairbox.

poem(s) for eyes

from crepuscular orations

Eyes semiclosed, gazing panting gently,
and my eyes sped along ahead so I could see the trains turning quickly around the bends as the women, exhilarated, held on tightly.
To open my eyes.
Look at his pretty eyes,
and flickering eyes.
My eyes are dry,
maybe the sun was too much in my eyes.
He also has prepossessing eyes.
But in my eyes
long tall dark eyes and moan, silently,
his smooth hands and his crystal beautiful eyes.
Even though she glares and corner-eyes me.
Pretty hazel eyes.
For his eyes to see.
Dark eyes.
His dark eyes forever engrained,
through his eyes
when I force him to keep his eyes open
for the eyes to soak it up, the lashes lining.
We looked at eyes with our mouths open.
Desert skin on ocean eyes.
Or his eyes?
All I had to do was to close my eyes
but for the moments when his eyes would grow big looking upwards,
my tears fogging my brain and my eyes.
My pretty dog with her pretty eyes.
His eyes & profile.
My eyes began to leak and he stayed in me,
eyes on theatrical display.
Soaking into my eyes and my ears and my heart,
his dark eyes etched with the charcoal lashes of a woman,
his beard grows all the way up to just under his eyes.
I can still close the eyes and find you warming down me.
Rolling eyes,
his surprised, opened-eyes:
He has green eyes, or hazel, and they go down at the corners somehow...
I can see the color of his face and the tactile reactions of his eyes...
and the teeth and eyes,
my eyes are watering
his eyes closed
my eyes, his.
I'm glad hat he has hazel eyes that go blue.
I want his brain & eyes.
All sorts of eyes on me,
conversations & eyes!
I can barely use my eyes, they are so teary...
My eyes filled and I said,
pretty eyes, pretty face.
He has redbrown eyes like his hair.

from momentos preciosas

my eyes I can feel are closing.
eyes dilated,
my problem is not just dilation of the eyes but the mind,
I feel my eyes dropping closed.

trues

My feet are cold whilst I sit sipping creme de la earl grey. It's brown woven inside-shoes, and a dark redbrown drink in a tall jar. I use a cat to pour the milk, and from where I stay at table a dreary california kitchen, 1954, soaked all portlandy, and I wonder a clear mind shouldn't be far off. Nutbutters, cashmachines, and the sings of birds of an overcast morn.