As the Comb Glides

A prose poem about one's perception of beauty re: combing hair.

Those long-haired beauties and fortunate gents
Cannot resist a good comb, now and then;
A device that serves no purpose
Other than to separate and smooth
One’s plentiful head of straight or curly hair…

Using a bathroom or bedroom mirror,
One might glide a comb through
Their clean and stylish do,
All the way to those billowy, flowing ends –
This complimentary and necessary reshaping
Of one’s locks communicating interest
In a level of beauty and refinement;
A light at the end of a very long and dark tunnel,
Precipitated by the ideals on which
A prolific aura depends!