Poem by Alison Eastley  •  Art by Sunny Williams

He lists sloth
as a virtue not unlike the recuperative
of a good night's sleep
instead of make-up drying wet eyes,
I try to hide
the sound of a runny nose
as if
I should be happy
he turns up
the warmth of his skin
never cooling this bed
when I've already washed
the sheets, 
the windows open and sunk
my head
under water
I soaped the scum
from complacency
until my hands were raw.

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