Splashes among the splatter of hot water and shampoo.
A speck of the tear-free latter, lathered in thin grey flecks,
slips through                              
                        his receding hair.

Preceding their retreat into the air,
countless droplets of the former had waited
- heated, squeezed, and leaking through pipes,
bound together, flowing
causing groaning -
the pipes growing

then
briefly reigning over the dirt and sweat burrowed
in the furrows of his ever-increasing brow,
grey water falls from grace,
diving down into the drain.
It leaves behind a trace,
filling up the place with a cloud.
now
the curtain's flicked open,
I hear him step out, a towel drying
and his subtle sighing at the humidity,
or is it humility toward our conversation?

(I can never recall what we ever discussed, just that the door didn't keep us apart)

He reached for the handle
the door creaked open a crack
I looked up at the mirror
his crooked smile looking back

then
I caught sight of the sleight'd man
trapped in the glass
now
wiped clear by his hand

A fearful idea passed into my thoughts:
The image he's got of himself's slightly altered.
My words faltered watching his switched, stubbled chin
His lips' starboard grin won't sit right with him,
and he's left unaware of just where his cleft crannies
though he's sure his reflection's his face, it's uncanny -
he is different to me -
the himself that he sees

Asymmetry revealed to me
all he has known he has even been
is not the man his son has seen
until -
I averted my eyes, as he walked to his bedroom
heard the noise of TV as he watched
and he changed
behind closed doors



...later...
More doors close
distance grows between us,
though our intravenous love keeps us reaching
ever outward toward each other
teaching our open arms to also grow
create a closeness
while letting go

It is an indulgent weakness,
our shared blood is pumped
through slumped shrugging shoulders
the years make us older                                        
/
                                         the tears keep us young
as flexed muscles holding us together bulge
in a great show of strength

i woke up and tried to
forget but was reminded,
instead, of the way your
lips gather like dawn
and dusk on either side
of the relentless night of
your insides, all points laid
out, shining light in form
constants: you, unknowingly
lit up, like cigarette tips under
city lights. so, is this how
you do it? how you smuggle
small likenesses, the
reflections upon slight layers
of water across the surface of
your eyes, into my waking
thoughts in ever-decreasing
intervals? finally, ending in
slow sequential convergences
with me seeing                    
                              you in
         oceans of sleep,
seeing your eyes, the soft
skin of your palms, bent
visions emerging in my
ventricles, aortae, arteries
of
how this ends.