He handles my kingdom with his cocoa hands and smoothing out my hair like cream bristles on my mind he caresses worries of then or doubts of tomorrow, taking long, slender fingers to tingle and touch and then shivering delightfully from sparks of his laughter. Tugging too hard on a piece of my mind, love he gives me makes more on my smile and liking his combing and tittering down he feels pain cause he yelped that I comb my hair often but not enough often, I skittered down to make him retake his remark with my lips, my little pink lips on the palm of his comber and tickling his hand his other is through, the pain of the tangle of love that defeated, presented him coolly itself.