I couldn’t wait to wash you off me today.
Normally I carry your musk scent like a badge of honor, a mark of Cain.
But today, I welcomed my Baptism, in Alexandria tap water, watching as you fell away, steamed from my pores, massaged from my skin, as if the physical loss of you could also erase your taste from my mouth, your feeling from my body.
When we lay together in opium like dream states, I splay my fingers across your chest, wishing I could sink them through your skin and feel your realness. Wondering, if I could get that much closer, would you finally be as high as me?
I can’t eradicate you from my thoughts. I can’t obliterate you from myself.
Truth be told, I don’t want to.
But neither do you want me.
Today’s prompt actually works out well for this poem.