Image from Shutterstock

Haircut

Her hair falls first –
a mat of curls blowing
across the floor.
It rolls down sidewalks,
climbs streetlamps,
sprouts shadows,
covers buildings in dark pelt.
Cicadas shriek from its branches.
Passing headlights catch the glint of
yellow eyes.

Then her skin -
Jeweled scales falling
from her shoulders,
butterfly wings that
cluster and clump,
crackling underfoot.
They fill the gutters,
flood the streets,
washing cars away
in an iridescent tide
of longing.

At the edge,
where waves reach for the moon
then dash themselves,
weeping and foaming,
on the rocks,
she stands
naked
against the sky.