Afro and Comb

From the multitude of

strands in my afro

I pick you out as special

with a comb, but

your emotions recede

like hairline

I bought you wings

ready to fly

but crashed my

heart into the treeline

Three-times we dined

I unshackled her

mind six times


Of my character you do

not know, and I yours, but

still I comb you up like an

afro ready to defy;

but you left my heart

soaked in gin with your lies


Here I go, deep sigh,

no tears no flow

as I script my

thoughts so slow

like the sex-drive of

a scorpio.






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