How Pretty Girls Dry Their Long Hair

...not like other girls, with shorter hair; I’ve seen.
They sand their dripping strands
between towel.
They let their heads fall back,
pulled down by the damp silk,
the lovely whispers that will o’ wisp
nightingales and fireflies to their billowy spines.
They let their chins drop to clavicle, grievers,
before they raise their coffin’d lashes
to the lone bulb in the ceiling,
slow breathing beneath the sweet suffocating veil.
And then, they apple,
one ear cradled in the wind of their hair,
stars shaken in glass jars in a dark room.