(All writing published here is owned by me unless cited otherwise.)
I can smell the stale conditioner being rinsed out of your hair,
A stream of hose water running off your chin.
Zero reality control; liquid, gas-
You are metal.
Thin, so thin that you sway
In my breath.
Softly, because you are close to me
And I can feel the vibrations of your sacred metal heart,
Through the mudpool the sprinkler creates around the edges
Where it stops too long.