Why not to uncurl you curl

Dear in your curls, my finger sink, get stuck,

As if walking in the glut of this world, I have suddenly found my roots,

That suddenly my fingers know where they belong,

And begin to play with each strand which twines around them, a twirl of mystery,

That I see your face all blossoming between the unruliness all about.

Who cares whether you cannot have them plaited, or they do not swing gracefully behind,

But while uncurling and recurling, playing along; my fingers in them an abode find.