Fair Hair

I never cared much for fair hair

until they dipped your crown in gold.

And the lights have dripped into your eyes

like candles on cerulean waters, leaving me quietly ready to drown in the stars you keep in glass jars.

I have held your hand on Friday afternoons, held your face on Saturday nights, and captured your eyelashes on pillowcases during Sunday mornings.

I have watched your lips part around my name--

a name that has never charged the air until it fell off your tongue--

and I know that I want to fall into you.

I never cared much for fair hair

until you traced sunlight along my stomach with your fingertips.