glass shower door

a face
in a mirror
is a naked stranger
washing hair

slowly, slowly,
a mist creeps higher over
a glass door
it swallows up naked legs,
belly,
soapy strands,

clouds over blue eyes
like an evening storm gathering all summer day
clouds over
skin almost remembering how to be skin

[was it me? were we ever even there?]

stranger gone,
water washes soap
contentedly
into a drain

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2 Comments

Filed under conceptual, growing older, poem, poetry

2 responses to “glass shower door

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