1.
First, you have to get the temperature right.
so you spin the dial
like you do with your car radio
when you search for good
music. this girl
has ruined some of your favourite songs/ turned
them into trojan horses carrying her laughter
in their bellies. & every tune peels off skin,
scalds,
offers memories that choke--
you need to get the water temperature right;
too hot & it will leave you burned,
make you weep & curse,
too cold & you will start to long
for the warmth of her coffee cup.
& you've spent too many late nights trying to
shed the habit of praying to her mouth.
2.
Try not to get soap in your eye.
it stings;
like you let your eyes become open gates
for pepper soaked fingers, like
you let them soak up the glow
of your phone screen at two am
in the morning,
in the company
of achromatic darkness & evading moonlight,
saying amen to acidic promises
of forever.
try not to get soap in your eye.
you don't want your brother
to think you're crying
in the shower again.
3.
Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.
& watch the soapy water get swallowed
by the drain. it may remind you
of your first fight. it was over
something silly, over a clogged kitchen sink.
she had warned you
earlier about making sure
you did not throw in dishes with leftovers.
ironic, cause she came into your life
with the taste of another man
in her breath. she always denied it,
claimed your insecurity
was making you swallow nails.
now, you wonder
when she started to wash you down
the drain.
when she started to rinse your kisses
off her neck,
feed all your poems to a hungry sink.
4.
Rinse but don't stay too long.
you have to save water, & you don't want your fingers to get all wrinkly.
you read somewhere that wrinkly fingers help us
get better grips under water.
you took thirty-five showers
with her before she left you to marinate
in the silence of her
absence. thirty-five showers, with wrinkly fingers
travelling down her arms,
seeking pilgrimage on her soft breasts.
thirty-five long showers,
& she still managed to drag herself from your grip.
thirty-five showers, & you have forgotten how
you ever did this alone. so now,
you find yourself here, with fingers squeezed around a shower knob,
still turning, still struggling
to get the temperature right.
YOU ARE READING
Endless. Blue
Şiir"the day you first told me you loved me, it was hot, the sun picked at our skins like god was trying to kill us with a magnifying glass. . ."
