when you’re sad, i undress you at a normal pace.
when you haven’t said a word to me all day, i let the faucet discuss white noise into the tight space of the bathroom.
when you can’t stand up straight, i lower your body into a bed of cold porcelain.
when you’re naked but still too big for our tub, i take off my glasses and fold in with you and meld our anatomy, letting us spill sickly over the sides and onto the linoleum.
when your green eyes cast purple shadows upon your cheeks, i let you trust me and rest them.
when you haven’t felt like styling your hair recently, i shampoo the limp two-day-old pomade out of it.
when you can’t exist right now, can’t hold up the brand, i let the warm water tangle us into one being, essentially kissing my own bearded jaw with pink lips.
when you hate yourself, i use my finger to complete a word search between your freckles and their 3-dimensional droplet counterparts until you can swim again.
when you can’t feel, when you’re numb, i keep us submerged long enough for the last of ourselves to drain out and back into the ocean, leaving loose, pruned skin upon the tips of our empty fingers and toes.
when you don’t have the energy in you to love me, i do it enough for the both of us.