You held me as I
Washed our dishes,
Soap suds sticking to my elbows
Bent against the curve of your
Arms that went on for days,

And I, in that moment
As the bubbles blossomed from
My dark fingers into the
Splash and sound of
Your tiny sink
Knew that
Even if you asked me not to
Wash away
Every inch of me from your kitchenette,
I couldn’t.

Somehow, as your breathing tickled
The side of my neck
I knew that leaning in
To wash away my sins
Meant leaning out
Into the ever widening eclipse of our
Infinity

Try as I may to hide it, Beloved,
My writing knows when I don’t love enough
The stranger I have become to you.

- Why I will always wash the dishes