First time at the new barbershop,
wooden chairs and the countertop.
Mirrors hung within a golden frame,
turning each angle, softly aflame.
The razor hums—she scales the flight,
scissors driving till the end of night.
Her breath suspends; his eyes just stare,
she plays a tune, she trims his hair.
Her comb descends, precisely slow,
his pulse betrays her teasing blow.
Senses bend to her will, of course,
his mind aroused—without remorse.
Her rhythm sways, stroking his lap,
like cedar varnish—he'd love to clap.
No vows taken, no boundaries crossed,
in that moment, a coin was tossed.