A mist rises from a nearby mound. It could be me, that mist, or simply the caretaker’s mower-dust. If the breeze blows just right, I’ll ghost your solid, entwine your hair. Promise me you won’t shampoo, but carry me along, tiny dust-particles of me.
Related Keywords: Hair Right You Promise Ghost Just Mist
Related Authors: Martin Luther King, Jr. Maya Angelou Buddha Nelson Mandela William Shakespeare Marilyn Monroe Mahatma Gandhi
