I washed your dark curls of hair in a sink.
You did not know, I hope you never do
And that is why the water ran with ink;
Perhaps my mind will wash the image too.
You were unaware that I had found you
With naked wreaths of hair, unbuttoned shirt,
And a smile, a simple smile, bathed in blue;
You were beautiful, but the sight still hurt.
I could only gasp in shock and avert
Eyes from the horror of that lovely scene.
That I would find this picture might assert
Some cruelty in fate’s two-fingered machine.
With a lover’s care, with pain and dismay
I caressed your hair, washing it away.

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