Bathwater ★★★★

Still and clouded
warm on my skin
I sink, my body sort of
slowly, indifferently
drifting downwards

but

not too far.

My dreams have always
in a way
spilled from me,
been left in traces
by my fingertips on
car doors and handrails
ticket stubs and skin.

I feel it
as it does
draining from my ears
falling from my lips
leaving me,
as they tend to do,
dissolving into the bath water
oil or salts or sugar cubes
shedding like skin
lost socks and misplaced
everythings.

Do you still want?
Do you sill dream
the same as the night
the stars fell into the sand around us?
To touch and taste or

slip away
into murky bathwater
sucked down the drain
and lost.