An
Ode to Shower
Rivulets from icebergs,
mud gorges from wrong touches
Ripples of despair in the
cracks and crevices
of brown trenches - the armpits.
of brown trenches - the armpits.
Someone must have
switched the geyser off again,
But you don’t mind the
numbness- it has been around for a while.
with every drop of cold
sweat and feet on an exile
No one to resent your
space,
Or point at this mess
Or even scoff at the
dress
Because there isn’t one
on.
Music drowning out the
admonishing
of frantic thoughts-
The ‘oh why-s’ and ‘why
not-s’
and every other regret
under the peach tiled roof;
Warmer canyons of narrow
doubts and shadow creeks
Trailing down your
unflushed cheeks,
The snaking line of
smoke,
Lisps and traces, warm
and formless,
Drifting like you, out
through the window
Settling on cool pipes
Like a cosy winter memory
Young and forgotten, a
summary.
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