when the phone rings.
A call from telemarketing asks for you.
I don't lie, when I say you're not home.
I climb in now, with all the skin
that will ever contain me.
The cool scent of soap, floral chemicals
conjuring a disinfected magic.
The shower fountains down,
it's liquid collapsing from the fall.
You left two weeks ago, and I'm naked here,
standing on the feet with which I'll be buried.
On the window pane, just above the shower,
a Daddy longlegs is splayed in futile escape,
frantic shudder against a transparent opposition.
Amid the sweet smell of clean, there's no hiding, only seeing.
Ungainly creatures, easy to catch, easy to damage.
Once they mate, they die.