There was a point in my life

when I had a matching durag

for every outfit in my closet

and today,

if you look hard enough,

you can still see the lines

on my forehead.

These are fossils from a

simpler time, ruins of an

orange can empire.

Back when I smelled like

Murray's pomade and had

more waves than a "goodbye"

that neither person wants

to happen.

Back then, I would cover

this ocean at night only to

unleash it again in the morning,

hoping someone will notice

the ide and perhaps compliment

the water.