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

away.

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.