One should hear the comb boast through its every tooth about the beloved's tresses, for this hair-splitting lock tears the chest wide open at night.

The poet playfully imagines each tooth of the comb as a speaking tongue, constantly boasting of the beauty of the beloved's dark locks. Yet, this magnificent hair is not merely enchanting—it holds a dangerous, razor-sharp grace. When night falls, the sheer, delicate intensity of these tresses pierces the lover's heart, turning longing into a sweet, devastating ache.