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People find me just fine– when they need me.

Needfulness follows me until it’s my turn to chase her and pull her retreating tresses.

They are auburn. She calls them red.

I’ve tasted one of her red hairs. She smelled of orange blossoms and grandeur.

I wanted to digest her.

So, I kissed her forehead leaving wet imprints from her third eye to her orange scalp.

As I breathed her in, I bit a piece of hair and sucked her through my teeth.

No flowers found–only red clay protein.