Your hair is all the hedonic young years’ lightness and purity
Your hair is the wind’s embrace temple built to scare insanity
Your hair is the holy ground where the starlight photons brush with frivolity
Your hair is Proudhon’s anarchy manifesto explained to the dummies
Would you let my fingers take shelter in your hair-made hamac?
Would you let me crunch your waving hair with my fragile teeth?
Would you let me perform a surrealistic dance in the meadows of your hair?
Would you let my whispered midnight delirium blow upon your hair?
Would you let me clumsily kiss you while your hair washes up my forehead?
I wish I could be your hair for a day
I wish I could be your hair in a dive
I wish I could be your hair on a cliff
I wish I could be your hair in the eyes of your secret lovers...