Saturday, 25 January 2014

Bed Head

A poem inspired by this post by the adorable Lady Pandorah

To the world you are immaculate:
clothes chic, unique; jewellery
just so, no more; make-up
merely defining what is
already there; and that
wonderful hair so
carefully coiffed—the
touchstone of your public self.

So I am blessed to see that hair so
beautifully dishevelled as your
flushed face emerges from the
rucked sheets, a sly smile on your
sweaty face, a faint
trickle of my pleasure
serving as lipstick.


  1. Goodness me, this is a delightful read. Thank you for the gracious nod in my direction.

    I think that most people who have such a manicured exterior need to let their hair down with the right person.

  2. This is one of my favorite poems of yours!