In a shallow porcelain tub
water faded by aging shea soap
risin up to my nose shy of the
cresent eye.
I convet slipping away but
the constant drip collapsing from
the crimson faucet reminds me to
hold on.
This being my only soulful yet
dark moment alone.
Still water disrupted by the
sudden glide of my lanky arms.
Soaked and pruned, I cup
in my hands the substance that
revives me time after time
but won't stop the woe from
my wavering mind

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