Hair and water

Hair and water on green porcelain
That tell me you were here only this morning.
The sweet sickly smell left in the tiled fog
In which you dance your daily ritual of scrubbing, soaping, washing, in water.
Hair and water,
Lying in puddles on the warm-cold floor
Remind me of you
And the startled waking when water hit metal.
I turn the wheels, water washes over.
An army of drops hits metal and porcelain,
Magnetised to tiles.
Wheels turn. Again.
A few stray drips.
I go, leaving damp footprints in dust.
And my own hair.
And water.

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