Pollen for my hair, flowers you may keep

Dances and ice cream trucks
Breeze through dandelions
Bloodied cafeteria meals
Mardi gras presents

Flowing tresses
Lifting up their wings.
Living out
Their independence.

Ironed, noodled.
Double edged scissors.
Living out
Prisoned categories

But aren't we too old now, my friend?
We're too old.

Tears in my eyes
As a thorn pricks you
Anger in my voice
As another maims you

Prickly hugs
Shrugged away
For heavier loads
Are arriving anyway

Here, not one
but two baalish I say
We'll anchor
While you sway

Because we're old now, my friend
We're too old

Alone, they say
Those calm shoulders
Night befalls
Curtained black stars

Here let's not give up
We'll stay hidden
We're not alone
Such is our Dark Room

Whisper out to me
before the Denners seek
Mouth hushed comfort
Let creased palms meet.

Because we're not as old, my friend
Not as old

Poem