She lies on the couch, propping

her head with a pillow, tossing her hair,

a million points splaying like nerves over the arm.

I start to brush through the thicket with the grain—

the ends first, carefully teasing them out

so not to stir up her aching tangled inside.

A shape that I am unable to recognize due

to her aura of vulnerability,

her paradox of loving devotion and dispassionate love,

she draws open the curtains

and the bones of her face emerge,

A shape that I am unable to recognize due

to her aura of vulnerability,

her paradox of loving devotion and dispassionate love,

she draws open the curtains

and the bones of her face emerge