anne boleyn did on tower green what I did for you in your room

[SnarlingThroughOurSmiles]

It was the way you combed my hair, after,
ends-up instead of yanked-down,
fingers trailing soft across my nape
- like they did across my face -
softer than how you kissed,
softer than how your scent pressed into my skin,
but not softer than the way you looked at me.

Because you don’t know this but it has felt
so long
since my heart has known something
beside the taste of concrete
since I have cradled myself with something
other than a boxcutter.
But you looked at me like I was the last true mouthpiece,
and for once I didn’t hate looking into someone’s eyes.
But you smiled at me,
and for once I felt like I didn’t have to earn one.

So I sat there,
with your comb running through my hair and your hands running down my back, exposed.
And every stroke felt like a promise you didn’t mind making,
like a secret I didn’t mind sharing.

All this to say: It has been a long time since anyone combed my hair.