sunday morning i shower between the men i am sleeping with.
i scrub the inside of thighs with remnants of fingernails and wonder
if mangled cuticles and body wash count as abrasive cleaners.
it is not saliva i try to scrub off, the hairs on my underwear
i do not recognize. i bathe the air in bottled woman-smell,
walk through the mist with eyes open – brown sugar burn on exposed iris.
it is not my body i am trying to clean.