[ WP ] A man is secretly in love with his barber . He begins to bald .

i am as lost and alone as the last strands littering my faded hairline 
 
 he is the only love i have known, the tight 
 hugging of his lips surrounding his timely smile, 
 the eyes i swear i have seen in national geographic, 
 his roughed, warm hands on my 
 cold and exposed shoulder 
 
 he is the only love i have known 
 sinking into a swirling chair, 
 into a whirlwind, a 40 minute striking funnel 
 grinding my polished boots into marble 
 
 i saw him for the very first time 
 when i was weathered and eroded by routine, 
 me, all 50 years of unstoppable calm, 
 irrational complacency, a smug madman 
 incapable of understanding happiness 
 
 him, sanitizing combs, the golden hour peeking 
 through barber shop blinds 
 striped by the sunlight, his smile and 
 symmetrical green eyes framed between 
 forceful and flaming wednesday sunset 
 
 i was simply walking the strip to my hotel 
 my monthly business trips away from my 
 wonderful and tedious family 
 and i had never needed a haircut so badly 
 and yet, not at all 
 
 i waited for him to finish the gratuitously shaped beard 
 before me, watching his reactions to the 
 unrelatable vitriol coming from his client's mouth, 
 waiting anxiously, making up more interesting stories 
 about me in anticipation for my appointment 
 
 and when it was time, 
 i lost all of my words 
 
 how, how could my life, my words, my hair? 
 how could this head of graying hair ever be enough for him? 
 
 i was silent 
 
 and every month, on the same business trip, 
 the same silence, the same anticipation, 
 the same tension, and love, 
 i wondered if he 
 knew me by name 
 
 this terror came upon me when 
 i started taking `` business trips'' once a week 
 
 my wife 
 my lovely, stale wife, 
 `` are you losing your hair already?'' 
 and my lovely, lifeless teenage daughter, 
 taking pictures and laughing along with mother 
 
 angrily slamming my fists down, 
 marching to the mirror, and seeing it all, 
 my guilt and desire literally eating the only 
 redeeming quality i had, for him 
 
 i could not go back, 
 i felt myself lose more every day 
 and lose him more every day 
 
 so this is my last chance to finally say the words 
 to say, `` this is my name,'' without choking on 
 the hairs that have moved from my head to my 
 throat 
 
 my life was measured 
 by my hairs resting place 
 in the corners of the marble floor 
 the whirlwind of me and him 
 never existing anywhere but the 
 chair
