Mrs. Meyers

Walking past the new Starbucks near McCarren and feeling sad for no reason. Except for maybe that’s my reason. The one next door to my apartment turned their bathroom into an office maybe a pretend office we’ll never know for sure. The last time I was in there they were out of soap nothing worse than that but I guess no soap is better than the soap I’m thinking of you know the one. 2018 the year of the monopoly on soap. 

Thinking about the way my skin used to smell from the bottle at the edge of the sink. Weeks became months and now basil-aloe-olive-oil turns my brain to patterns the light made leaking from the crack in your window, rainbow floods of color painting blank walls from across the tv, jersey sheets and the way cold glass feels on warm skin. How does all of this fit into thin air like a scientific miracle. Ive been doing my best to reverse the conditioning but now I’m at this bar at this show in a stranger’s apartment and my hands are coated in everything I was hoping to avoid. I’m just trying to get clean without thinking of you