The Spa

In a bathtub with the world
less relaxed as I track detached skin
attached to a long dark hair
grey at the root
after it collides
with an unapologetic bump
into my slick bare thigh

Ruffles are smoothed
as a flutes echoes through
the artificial falls tempest roar

a glance through the skylight
brings a castle
and a stranger
in the window watching

us
watch each other
winter bodies
undressed
winter minds
shocked flaccid skin
repels glazed direct stares
and a passive agressive
hunt for used lounge chairs

free fruit, tea and cucumber water
compliment the sour patch kids
hidden in my purse.
It kinda sucks
and it couldn’t be better

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