I take a bath in salt water
where gravity does not exist
On the shelf, there is a new set
of the same clothes laid out

There is no concert hall here
and no outside for walking
only a greenhouse
where I like to sniff scents

free of human traces
the skin creams and soap
with which we, counted acquaintances
distinguish ourselves

And when I take care
to *** silent and to ****
not sputtering
leave the light out

and have *** carefully slow
I am the only one on the toilet
in my bed and the bath
who spies on me

Oh they're going to find out, how can they not
Without a singular doubt, I'm going to get caught
I even suspect a friend, who maybe thinks I'm sick
because I've lost the path of God. Oh it’s her, isn't it?
There's something greater at stake as well
not just missing out on the praise
But there's so much in name
it’s your well of glory
Will I regret it in the coming days
Is it worth it?
Does it add or take from the story?

Where’s the proof
where’s the undeniable proof
that I'm here and that it's all worth it?
What I am going to talk about
What rhyme will I remember
Do I really want to **** half of them this December?

Who do I brag to?
How much is it going to hurt?
If your friends and family don't know
Did you even do it?

I used to get very annoyed with my mask
each day I’d implore, “Is it too much to ask -
that my glasses don’t steam up when I walk in a shop
or to not have to swallow down buckets of snot?”
But lately my viewpoint has started to waiver
as I discover new uses for this multi-lifesaver
like wiping the grit from my spectacle lenses
or warming my beard when I’m out mending fences.

Then there are subtler means of employ
(I’m not talking about some ***** *** toy)
where this sliver of material,
though appearing unmanly,
has proven itself surprisingly handy.
Only last week, on a long evening walk
I crept into a church round the back of Earls Court
and sat down to the tones of an ***** concerto
that whirled within me like Dante’s Inferno.
Out of the blue I began to cry
emotions stuffed deep inside reached for the sky,
streams gushed forth from each quivering eye lid
I’d not wept so fiercely since being a kid
yet though it did not cover the whole of my face
with my mask pulled high I was
at least,
saved some disgrace.

When this is all over (I promise it will)
hold a thought for how
your mask did fulfill
so many functions,
besides helping you survive
and perhaps carry one in your pocket
to keep the memory alive.

From
the veil of
trees, I can
peer into
your window,
and count
the family,
imagine them
gone to bed,
dreaming of blue,
"underwater, unaware."

Those summer
evaporations tickle
my skin,
bring on such
an observational
itch:
how you,
freshly out
of the pool,
bloomed
brightly on
Betamax.

High above this
destiny

I can see your private
mystery

Mechanical wasp controls
the hive

Its sensors are buzzing and about
to go live

Over the shoulder, around
the bend

The naked you is about
to trend