Notes (Modern Baseball)

Dear long, dark hair, I write cause I know you'll forget You could be Sea green in a wastebasket tomorrow No repulsion toward my premature indulgences If you can't recall a word I said Not like those cheekbones That crooked nose No, those fellas stick around too long Perpetuating every pathetic word that I skew into song She was my trophy shelf of slip ups My untamed hormonal Loch Ness shitshow On late night rotation for months on end A brick boot swimming lesson In the deep end of my adolescence Scrawling notes on the backs of my hands But I'll start fresh with you Extracting the rusted attachments Keeping the diehard nuts, bolts, and screws We'll go from square one With the wit of an old pro And you can fill in the gaps with whatever you know My long, dark hair