There was a point in my life
when I had a matching durag
for every outfit in my closet
and today,
if you look hard enough,
you can still see the lines
on my forehead.
These are fossils from a
simpler time, ruins of an
orange can empire.
Back when I smelled like
Murray's pomade and had
more waves than a "goodbye"
that neither person wants
to happen.
Back then, I would cover
this ocean at night only to
unleash it again in the morning,
hoping someone will notice
the ide and perhaps compliment
the water.