my tomb
was in the form of a bathroom,
in boston, where i stood, naked,
wrapped in a towel and
dripping with wet.

i had showered, and
washed you off,
scrubbed your memories
like a bandit.
i had soiled myself
in all the lies that
you sold to me, for two bits each,
every one wrapped in
golden paper
with an "i love you" note
attached.

i had begged god
for forgiveness for
opening my thighs and
taking you in,
for letting you attach
yourself to my womb.

i still was sleeping
with you at the time.
but you were miles away,
at home, wrapped in your bed,
wrapped in someone else, and
i had been weeping that night.

but i scratched your name
across the mirror with my crying finger,
in the steam.

i had drawn raindrops and
other things,
over my cheek,
scrawled expletives and
places on the windowpane.

(and you
you were dead to me.)

12/19/2003

Author's Note: i repeated myself deliberately. so there. and! daniel rollings, my god, way to inspire, my dear.

Posted on 12/19/2003
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