This is the first time I've cleaned a kitchen in ages and even better,
next up is the bathroom, hands and knees, bucket beside, scrubbing
getting the grit out from the impossible to reach cracks in the tile
forgoing the thought of using my fingernails because I've seen too
many horror movies and I can't shake the feeling that if you try
too hard to fix an issue with a tool just not right for the job, then
things
     can fall
          apart
               or
come. right. off.

So there it is in the smell of my pail of pine-sol cleaner, long lost
smell of the rush and presence of the most refreshing kind of stripping
down right to the ****** at the core of these good looking bodies and
faces, the place of bareness only tangible and graspable where
it likes to hide beneath our chest plates and marrows until we find
the right combination of tools to use to choose to fix ourselves
before
     we all
          crumble
               into
dust. and. sand.

These bones know the sunlight heat and it's returning in good time
as if to say, in the exact moment it left it's come back into station to
stay an immeasurable amount of time.

You know.

For a little while.