water fills your mouth as your glass eyes stare from underneath
the tap — the old tub holds you cold and mute
and your back’s warmth leaches clockwise down the drain
before you went we both smelt metal in the air
your stockings madden me calves akimbo like you’re angry
knees hooked over the edge
you’re quiet now I like you this way your skirt a lens flare
there is no sound but for the taps that run on
wet words falling into your mouth
response to Corinne May Botz’s photograph of the same title
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