I’m perpetually fighting
the constant pressure
to capture
the present moment
(How much is mine to keep?)
When all I want is to exist within it,
and let it pass,
as quickly as I realized it was there,
and as briefly as it remained

I can only bathe in it
in the metaphorical sense,
letting these little droplets of time
soak into my skin
with a soft, rose petal fragrance,
the scent of renewal
masking an ever-present fear
that fills these soap bubbles, each neat little "pop"
destroying my rainbowed reflection
stretched across their filmy surfaces

I realize I am only partially attached
to the drain plug of the bathtub...

But that thought escapes me as well,
moving with the water now swirling down the pipes,
***** from my skin and tears
and lost hairs and forgotten dreams,
carrying every particle of my former self
to some unknown grave

So I leave my bones, carelessly, in this empty ceramic shell
and imagine the day that I was born