I Hate Using Her Bathroom

She closes her eyes

And she can remember the glisten

Of sweat behind  his ears and the

Rough summer grass color of his skin

As he meticulously placed each tile down.

She wanted something unique,

And so he spent countless hours

Making an intricate watercolor

Puzzle on the floor.

As her tangled hair molds

To the tile lines and her toes

Slowly curl, she whispers

“Thank you.”

Even as the blood seeps into

Her towel piled by the bathtub,

Even as the slick melted glass of her life

Spreads beneath her palms, 

She whispers

“Thank you.”

Until the soft shaded bulb

Above her quietly scintillates

In her vision;

Then she says

“I’m sorry.”