Fresh Cut Grass

The freshly mowed grass on my scalp tickles at the touch,
the drops of water accumulate slowly at the top,
trickling slow and deliberately down each blade.

The breeze feels closer without the overgrowth of just an hour earlier,
I can feel a surreal sensation of the phantom hair now missing,
my temples feel exposed, bare for the first time in a long time.

I run my fingers through and the water springs away,
my fingers grit with tiny particles,
I rinse them in the rain, and rub them together.

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