the first time I remember you, you're blonde and don't love me back.
I wish it stayed that way. but soon You're brunette
and You do. It's the sweetest thing I've ever tasted.
Your brown hair was like hot chocolate in autumn,
wool gloves in the snow,
a candy store in February.
it never occurred to me that
candy rots, gloves get soaked, and chocolate residue
pools at the bottom of mugs like tea leaves.

then, You're a red head with fading freckles and a consuming love.
i stay because i feel responsible.
maybe loving me is just as addicting as loving You.
i stay because that burning is intense, yes, but it
reminds me of past candlelit dinners.
warmth and heat are one and the same, aren't they?
of course, You reply, and hand me another glass
of wine as dark and red as You. We
spend that lifetime drunk.

when i knew You again, Your hair was stained black every Sunday.
i offered to help get the roots once. You screamed
and locked Yourself in the bathroom.
i paced through the night as Your tears kept me awake,
chiseling at my heart.
in the morning, i held You close to my chest
and apologized the way You taught me to.
You smiled with all Your teeth on display,
well rested and happy.

the next time we never met. Our bus crashed two blocks before me
and squashed you like a bug.
it's sickening the hold You still have
while decaying in the dirt beneath my feet,
yet i still find myself dyeing.
black like my ashes when You burned me,
red like the stains on our carpet,
brown like the mud pies we made,
and blonde.

blonde like the sunshine that kissed my skin as
I moved on oh so easily.
that color didn't last very long, though; the sight of it
was sickening.

reborn, we met for the sixth first time with our hair buzzed short.