wilting lilies by the bath room window,
pale yellow light seeps through to kiss the sill,
is it enough to stop the dying from being dead?
enough to wet the cracks in the harsh soil?
a muffled buzzing somewhere inside,
something has not yet felt or noticed,
a mirror with no onlooker is exactly that,
a room inside a room besides itself,
look there through the hissing mist,
naked and revealed it must be truth,
towel on the floor hardly worth a mention,
under garments asunder like stepping stones,
welcoming even to an unseen stranger,
scum down the sink hole round it goes,
what could have been – forgotten,