Hairstylist Heaven

Hairstylist Heaven

We wait for Molly’s grand entrance
But text mails to her unanswered
As the hours build
Into slow storm front of worry
We line the grey clouds with silver
Of getting to know the new lady
Molly parades in with a smile

Her hands rub my beggar’s crown
With lotion of love lost
My dreams washed by her hope
She declares no greenbacks for her tonight
She my confessor in this sacrament
Of words tossed like salad
Into our savory sharing of spices

Her fingers comb my wet locks
Like fish swimming
through my kelp strands
Hip cocked against my shoulder

I sit like a king in barber chair
She insinuates her body
Between my spread legs
While trimming bangs
With me knee deep in the night

Her denim derriere
Gathers my gaze
My plea to compensate her
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I said I would. And I want to”
Our smiles meet like old friends
“I’ll make it up to you next time” she says.