Sunday, May 15, 2011

This time of night,
he never used lights.
He walked into the bathroom.
The shades were drawn,
just allowing a few lines
of moon when the wind blew.
He didn't know what color
the toothpaste was, though
he'd know in the morning.
It tasted like peppermint candies.
He turned on the tap
and guessed at the water,
rinsing his mouth and splashing
his face. The soap made his face
look ghostly if he could see it
in the mirror. He washed it

He had removed his shirt
in the four strides between
the bathroom and the patio.
At the sliding door,
he placed his hand on the glass
to feel the cold. From outside,
no one could see his lower half.
His hand dropped to his side.
The frost made moons where
his fingers had been.
He moved into the bedroom,
lied in his bed, and thought
on his unintentional celibacy.

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