We are alone together. A breeze intrudes

on this moment from the window

in my kitchen. We welcome this.

You peel off layers of me while you run

everything under hot water first—

cleansing them of rotten freshness

and what is left behind by our hands.

You part everything

into a separate dish and set aside

for later use. Perhaps

this will heal our insides.

We place the makings and mix them together.

We wait.

A cloud of steam divides us. I keep

the question to my lips––

close to me, for now.

You begin to shed articles of clothing

to fight the heat of this room.

To determine if it is done,

we look for the shine that wasn’t there before

all of this.

We look at what we made together

and both saw something different.

You woke me early in the morning

when you got up to pee.

I knew you weren’t trying

to but we were still spinning

and so stoned that we fell

into each other.

I mistake what is between us:

The question leaking from my lips.

After you leave, your smell stains my sheets.

I hesitate to move out from bed now

knowing that I must wash you from myself.