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
toothpaste,
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,
disappears.
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