Ah! The geyser is working again. The fruity smell of the shampoo trickles down the spine washing away a whole day at office. Wrapping around the dry freshness of the towel he emerges into an evening date with self.
All books are reread, all paintings unripe, all music jarring for the hour. The blanket suggests tobacco and Trika. Insects gather round the brilliant filaments: epitome of absurdity…epitome of life. He switches off the lights.
No ring disturbs the slumber
But a 3:00 a.m. nightmare and tears, none to hold him close.
In the morning however, it all feels liberating.
