Toilet - Zeke Greenwald
Toilet Zeke Greenwald The sun had lost its light tight-ropes in the amber of the acne soap, I wash my face; and slowly soapy residue attracts, with cracking dry skin clues, my fingers. Our fluids dry quickly in that way; they evaporate across the grain of our knuckles and lips, whose movements crack their varnish; thus sex is an inconstant artist whose friable medium has memory enough to forget for you its obscure stuff; so I scarcely remember to even wash it from our green and white striped sheets some months, or me, some days; or I forget complete occasions drying as I withdraw, that cravings newly spawn.
27.
