To Caress My Beard Is to Know God

sweat drips languidly from my freshly trimmed beard. gazing into its magnificent shrubbery, i realize more time has been devoted to its elegance than I’ve given to my own self-preservation. but to hell with survival, it is a pillar of caveman existence, my paleo diet feeding the animal hugging my rough edges like a fly on a windshield. my lips hide beneath intertwined shadows, hearty roots on an ancient tree. to caress my beard is to know god.


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