it feels like this:
every time you're home yet i'm alone.
so i sit by the window,
coaxing smoke,
out of dim lit cigarettes.
watch the chill break out of my skin,
and hope i can feel again.
i sit still in the tub,
as if on pause,
and listen to the water fall.
an ache, filled still
with tepid water from the bath.
how do i still feel so unclean,
unsure and unredeemed,
with soap on the skin,
enclosed from heart to limbs?
now, now, it seems to be so,
my hands are trembling,
and i am alone.
with soap on the skin,
enclosed from heart to limbs?
now, now, it seems to be so,
my hands are trembling,
and i am alone.
