Our stray hairs intermingle
in a corner on your bathroom floor.
Your round black curls
and my long looping threads
forgettably accumulate behind the toilet
forming a forensic collage -
the only evidence of a recurring union
between you and I.

Although the towels are always crumpled
on the floor in damp disarray
and the barren toilet paper roll
is always on its last ply,
I will visit my reflection
in your bathroom mirror once again
and once again
I won't know why.