Privy To:

Privy To:

 

I’ve seen how you sometimes

creep

solemnly to the bathroom mirror.

 

Heels brushing the hexagonal tiles,

swish

swash,

like dead leaves atop a hiding place.

 

I’ve watched as you search your own eyes.

(they move so fast.)

Almost like a shiver.

 

Your breath quickens.

Your brows flutter.

Your throat plunges.

Until finally you

B L I N K :

lids lingering like the shrug of a dark wool sweater.

 

I’ve wondered as you stand stoney,

eyes shut,

marooned over porcelain,

is it…

…lonely there?

as you breath?

tenderly on the glass?

 

buffing ever so gracefully,

silently stroking the steam of your mouth,

l e a n i n g right into

the secret of you?

 

 

 

 

© Beth Meyer 2018

 

 

 

 

 

 

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