It takes concentration
to only feel the fingers on my face
in firm circles around the eyes, and the background noises.
And everything is in a line
mussed and jumbled, but still in a line.
or something we could call a line, or pretend.
The rainbows of suds, a few, glinting about.
The randomness of it
all. You know, you won't find anything here
or in the way we arrive.
It is how lipstick clings to crystal glasses
without any pattern
and how I never raise my hand to say goodbye.
It is how there was something you were going to say,
something about the way I am.