Wednesday, October 13, 2010

What if the water was too hot? I worry about that.

There is a space that the water needs to find.
I change my direction, willing the drops to sooth the watery tread along my back.
I hold my mouth just far enough from the spray,
kissing the shapes I've formed out of the pressure.
I tuck into the heated rain,
letting my spine wrap itself into my ribs,
into my chest,
into my heart.
The warmth is so much a part of me now.
I look down and see red.
I sprawl my fingers across the porcelain,
as the angry pool twists my edges into flattened breaths.
I sink in like I did.
Sound changes itself in my ears.
I am hollow now.

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