this is a division,
the soap said to the sink
in white foam
and soft, swirling sentences.
i'm in love with an idea,
but i never loved it more than you,
the soap cooed
like a baby summer lamb sunshine warm blankets.
one day, we'll return to this place
and we'll think about how changed we are,
what it took to get here.
the poor sink,
as cold as he could be he
couldn't ignore the song.
it was a sweet drip-drip,
the fleeting cling and no one ever spread over
his huge humps like that.
it rings in the mouth like metal,
hits the really wrong taste buds
but never, never
did they use their own strength to
clean it.
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