acrid morning taste
of whoopsie daisy mistakes
of privilege and proportion
wrinkled sheets and drying sweat and
ghosts of dreams of
no, i can't remember
curtains so light
they might as well not be there
right, this isn't my bedroom
sounds of clink and splash and swish
smells only of myself
and no, i don't remember
it isn't always safe
to be myself
when i don't know who that is
