dried

Once you’ve finished

drying yourself out, take

stock of what truths

you find yourself shouting

to strangers in bathrooms

hoping that someone

will call you real.

Maybe the end has already

come; dishonesty nothing

more than aftershocks.

I won’t feel guilty for loving

I won’t feel guilty for loving

I won’t feel guilty for loving

even after they’ve left.

Can you see regret wafting?

Try to smell shame.

Self-denial, the only stench

to stand; resourcefulness

never ceases to amaze.

Wish you here or wish

me there, off in the ether

the precise between,

go, they say, go! go

faster, they mean.