my hair curls like ballerina twists

falling as family of vines 

softly hanging 

softly swaying

from the branches of bronze pine

oh all the compliments my coiling vines receive

as if they have mind of their own

with a bouquet of chrysanthemum looped through each 

laced with a mouth of gold

yes you may touch me

whispering swift yet never bold

shyness encapsulates 

her face drops with a loose smile

each follicle a flittering petal

falling 

            falling 

                       falling

with swift motion

twirling once yet never dying

nosy hands reach from afar   

aching fingers branded

more curious than a cub

                             reaching

               reaching

reaching

for the baby pink bud like love

encased in floating doves

dazzled so honey sweet

too tempting not to touch

plink

a petal falls

wrinkly finger wraps the vine

petting like a dog

sniffing like a fragrance 

yanking as if she will blossom 

into a vast garden of curls 

dancing flowers 

stretching roots

yet still confined by the greed of others

her life confined to a few short hours

perfectly plump

petals arranged on cue

vibrant with jojoba smoothie

radiating their coconut hue

until the next hand comes

like a cloud to the sun

doves rise with the utmost uncertainty 

wrestling with God

vines as if a specimen

chrysanthemum as if yours to touch

if only the two could speak

and tell the world 

hands off