making #8: square

Inventory:
the pale sun
that the curtains
can’t quite block
and your neck
your face
pulled under the blanket
like a turtle;
the hospital corners
unkicked at the bottom
that we won’t bother
remaking
tonight
and my hair
curled around
snagged on the bedhead;
your day-old stubble
and my rough path
along your jaw.
Our drugged whispering.
Everything sinking within
this deep square bed
from head to foot.

love #14: away

You laugh at
my reckless winter sudsing
and remind me
how long you’ve been gone.
Your half-empty shampoo
offers solace to mine.

Warm and familiar
steam curls up next to the mirror.
A ghost reflection
flicks and twists—
shower curtain
bare arm.

I fall with the water
muscles slack, slinked with hair
slip down the drain and away.