On Jagged Edges

The bath water is excruciatingly hot; I grimace, getting in. In a few minutes, my skin is numb, flustered, I can't feel where my body ends and the water begins. Next door, the old man is playing his violin, it is so hard to tell if he does it well. It's always loudest in the bathroom, in the vents. Finally citrus season, I peel a giant orange and let the peels drop into the tub; the fruit is juicy, refreshing, delicious, it will absolve us, it drips down my chin and lands sticky on my chest.

I know you walk these streets, still, I know our time is long since over. Summers will always give way to icy desert and endless sleep.

Another tired day passes, the nocturnal creatures rise. I feel the snow fall in my lungs; I move on.