Non-Erotic PoetryBrushShe lets me brush her hair sometimes
Says her dad used to do it
He's been dead for ten years now
The brush slides through
Sand colored, silk thread
Like rain down a window
She can't remember the song
He used to sing
Before she was too old
To let her father baby her
Pale yellow
Light paints
Turning sand into gold
She closes her eyes
She isn't with me
She’s with daddy
Falling asleep to a lullaby
And a soft brush through her hair
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