Unlocked
To wash my hair of you.
Symbolically intended cleansing exercise.
But the instant that I bend my head,
The wafting odour of shampoo
Breaks out, an evil genie from the blue
Upturned, unstoppered bottle.
Your key has picked my lock.
No wish is granted, nor is there joy.
The aroma lingers in my nostrils,
Looming, transforming from its citrus fresh:
Objective correlative.
To wash my hair with you.
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