Nice head

Tamara says she has a black person's skull. I think she is referring to the length of her head. When viewing her head from the side, her parietal and occipital lobes aspire. I only notice a skull if it is grossly deformed, incongruous in volume, or hairless. Her hair is fine, down to her nape, on the light side of chestnut, and not just one color. Sometimes it's in a ponytail, sometimes not. Sometimes it smells like vanilla, sometimes like mustard. One's a compliment, one's a joke, both are true. She has a narrow mouth and high cheekbones set intriguingly far apart, and spotted tarragon and cinnamon flecked eyes that I saw kindness in only after a year. Free women have a dresscode derived from collective male suicide. Decent teens wear jeans. So does Tamara. I am not sure how old she is. That's nice. So is her thin vinyl raincoat that's the color of the top stripe of the sky when the bottom stripe is dark, and that has thick, corroded but smooth buttons, crudely cast tin buttons and a belt that I am allowed to tie and untie.