Monday, December 22, 2014

Mixed with Spit

this is the shortest day of
the year, the winter solstice,

it's not all that cold,
I've left the windows open,

I am in the shower spitting

there was a girl once, in this
shower, but I'm alone now, sexless,

past the fogged mirror,
if you'd wipe your hand
across its face,
are gray tired eyes,

a mind that won't settle,

water runs toward the
drain, gurgles, swirls,
settles for a moment,


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