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Here's the stuff we found when you searched for "she braided her hair and stared at me while I sat on the bed"

I don't like her because she won't like me
The stars were bright that night she left me forever
She asked me to read her a poem
While I watched the leaves get caught in her hair.
I told her I could read her mind, but she didn't believe me. I could tell.
I still find strands of her hair in bed
She said, while hugging a bowl of turnips close to her bosom
She sat in virginal white, eyes closed, with only her face in rose
A dose of mystery slipped into her cocktail while she was in the ladies' room
while she sleeps, i write myself into her life
i gave her my heart. she gave me a pen.
The portion of her face she allows me to see
She asked me if I loved her and I showed her the tattoo
she gave her heart to a falling star
There's you pushing me in a swing while I watched the stars.
if you fear spells, look away when she decides to share her hair with the wind.
surrounded by stars, her dark hair blending into the fabric of the night sky
She asked me to copy my poem into her notebook
All the while he was talking she was thinking what his whiskers would feel like on the back of her neck
She grew a little older, while he was telling her
Because I still love her, because I know she still loves me.
Bernice Bobs Her Hair I
I got the feeling the Fairy Council was mad at me when the president knocked over her coffee to get a better grip on my neck
He touched her once and she turned into a golden creature. He never touched her again.
That one makes me scream, she said
I gave her my heart, she tore it apart, and who gives a fart.
thoughts while cutting my daughter's hair
She was so quiet that nobody heard her
the way she wears her weary
spade-struck embers spark and flare the smoke what snarls up in her hair
She nicknamed her vagina "Crusty"
He made the stars speak to me in Morse Code
She said her father died of cancer in the sixties
What's she gonna look like with a chimney on her?
They walk around her like she is in danger of breaking
Bernice Bobs Her Hair II
She does not take her trip. She does not shout out loud.
She is willing to attempt to retrieve the data. Go with her.
You put a hand on her hip, she permits it.
She was inside the music, with her eyes closed
I remember when it was me who made her skin flush
She writes notes to me, to keep me in check
She Fucks Me
There is nothing growing here, in the space between she and me
She told me I looked like a Henry, and this is how she would know me
She told me to say that
She is a night of dark trees, but he who is not afraid of her darkness will find banks full of roses under her cypresses
She bruised her knee. This is how we met.
She is so beautiful, I gave up Nihilism for her
When she woke up, her hands were still dreaming
She found her bliss between the headphones, and pursed her lips.
Bernice Bobs Her Hair VI
Her self image was not the force field she imagined it to be
She Will Have Her Way: The Songs Of Tim & Neil Finn
I don't think she even knows that I make her smile
she doesn't write, doesn't tell you stories, but somehow it's her words that spring to mind at those crucial, terrifying moments, and for that you are eternally grateful
She disappeared as if he had only dreamed her
The emotion on her face was always the one that she was feeling in her heart
I wonder sometimes if it is milk in her hair, full of sweetness,
I would have attempted to draw her if she had stayed that way.
'Scuse me while I kiss the sky
My parents conspire to make me a porn star
you never once told her how beautiful she was nor how much you truly loved her
She Called in Her Soul to Come and See
She loved me for my maths
I would have tried, but Charlotte kept Charlotte in the world of Charlotte and she barely heard me
Alice without opening her eyes says You have to stop crying you are shaking the bed.
She just looks at me
she spent the night gingerly peeling me off the moon.
Choose a star with me
She only wants me for tech support
Look with me at the stars
She keeps her lies everywhere
how many bird nests would be made from her lovely hair
So she wet the bed
burning stars lit up their hair
Bernice Bobs Her Hair IV
She does not rustle but her flesh has the moonlit shade of a silver birch
Her grief is still too young to behave itself, so she never lets it out
Some nights, I lie in my bed and stare up at the stars...
Bathe her and bring her to me
Her innocence fell. She kicked at it some, frowned, and left it there because it was beautiful.
I come home, she lifted up her wings. I guess that this must be the place.
Would you like to penetrate her shell, insinuating yourself among the pages of the books she is reading?
She wears her failed relationships like a shield
Bernice Bobs Her Hair III
Veronica loves manipulating her vagina until she explodes
She plugs her tears in the way you'd keep a dam from breaking
Some nights, alone, he thinks of her, and some nights, alone, she thinks of him
her hate keeps me warm. her shadows keep me guessing.
She opened her eyes, looked at a world made entirely of white light
At night, her eyes closed, she would
She practices her speech
let her take me, feed on me, devour me
she lit her thumb on fire
as the red star rises, blood and carnage and her slow ascent follows
I kissed her in the hair
She always confused her greys with white.
He dreamt he was a bulldozer, she dreamt she was alone in an empty bed
She threw herself from the bed
She approached me with some vague line
She pulled the "I love you" on me
She crashed her car trying to avoid a butterfly
She misses me
She dumped me when she found out I'd been faking my Scottish accent
She said she loved me
Excuse me while I kiss this guy
Well, pin a gold star on me
She kissed me gently, just once, then walked away crying
She who makes the Moon the Moon and, whenever she is full, sets the dogs to howling all night long, and me with them.
She wakes me up by tickling my feet
Two condoms, she makes me wear
She is stupidly keeping herself a secret, when I know she has sparkly things to show me
She Loves Me
She was an intellectual prostitute, seducing me with profound truisms
She loves me, she loves me not
You, smoking a cigarette, and me dreaming of stars
the stars wait for me (document)
I put my head down and hoped to God she wasn't looking at me
She kills me
She only wants me for sex
She told me I'd make a good Satan
Her hair was seaweed and the Pacific wind sang
Bernice Bobs Her Hair V
Bernice Bobs Her Hair
Since she whom I lov'd hath paid her last debt
Her still wet hair
Motivate me to move and I'll give you a reason to stay in bed
her arms around me
I remember when it was me who made her toilet flush
I haven't seen her in a month. She is still beautiful.
Robert Lionel Fanthorpe fills up the word count in a science fiction novel: she brushed her teeth
standing off to the side of the lobby, watching the hostess adjust her hair
Her perception of how gorgeous she is will be evident in her lack of movement during sex
It happened to everyone else; she swore it wouldn't to her
She calls him Sugarcane. He calls her Hurricane.
She was a committed romantic and an anarcha-feminist. This was hard for her because it meant she couldn't blow up beautiful buildings.
She flies with her own wings
She ties regrets around her fingers like forget-me-knots
she left her handwriting all over the calendar
She opened her eyes and spoke in a very normal voice, just as if she were sane
You can play with my ex-girlfriend, but treat her like the lady that she is.
I don't tell her these things, and she doesn't ask
Sometimes the apathy she saw made her want to curl up and cry
In a quiet grove of pines under a frosty sky, he helped her out of the sack. She wore severe white hospital pajamas and was beautiful.
She thought about giving him her heart
Call me back when hair starts growing on his palms
Anna and her Mother: spinning me in circles
Another bed she does not own
She always was devious in her beauty
does she need to touch her own face to know?
She who leaves men as flaming wrecks in the ditch on the side of the road in her wake, yea, even submarines
Her photography captured little beautifuls and me
She was never mine. I always shared her.
And she, with her beautiful words and such a fire burning inside
she had already found her party
it was just as if she held her breath for 82 years
She Will Have Her Way
She was most amazed by the obvious, like January and the fact that I could not possibly keep her.
She was the prettiest, loveliest cat at the ball and she had upon her fine gilded whiskers.
She gets caught in the little world beneath her sheets
She is the queen of accidental magic. Her used kleenexes, taken by the wind, become soulful ghosts.
She didn't wave goodbye so much as slightly raise her hand
little pieces of her tragically poetic attempts at being loved that she was startlingly aware of, today
She is the sea. Above her, he is thunder.
Now she's in my doorway, accusing me with her soft breasts and long legs, strong hips.
Laid down on the bed that wasn't her own
Susan Goldman, who has cervical cancer, is partly thankful as she braces herself but changes her mind as she's sprayed with burning jet fuel.
why she makes her wishes at 7:07
Don't tell me about her
I would like for you to make your arms for me the way you make your bed for you
She picked herself up, wiping away at her dignity
When she sleeps, is she not moving her legs aside for an unknown garrison?
serene. She sips her tea
The sun was caught playing unashamedly in her auburn hair, setting our world on fire with giddiness
I asked her not to forget me
She, the Last Leviathan. She, the Station Agent. Chin on her Palm, she Watches Every Departure.
She knows no truth except her own.
She smokes. It wraps around her wrists and clings to her neck.
A girl I know had her jaw wired shut, and she vomited.
Her braid; I obeyed

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