For a moment,
I turned the faucet
and the water sang.
Two notes, a gurgling alto warming her chords.

Then, the flow of water aerating
down the lowly sink, down the steel holes.

Nobody loves me the way the water does.

Last night
the rain struck me
with swifts, half-liquid butterflies.
blinded, I walked onwards anyway,
and clung,
to its pebbling coldness.
then, I too, was sweet rain.
 
A splash.
It nearly kisses me,
but falls away.
I wash my face yet again.
It rinses my sweat, the oil,
but underneath, never pristine,
a dirt girl unearthed to porcelain;
I am yellow pale, a boyfaced zombie.