Day 301, bubblebath

I lie here in a too warm bath, soaking in
The sound of crickets that sneak through drafty windows
I turn on the cold water
To cool off, to make this minute last
To forget about the impossible heat
Of a too warm day

And there is the rub
The irony of my desires

Using warmth to cool down
That stream of liquid heat rushes into
My porcelain tub like rapids
Filling up an empty place

Making me ever so aware
That if I don't turn on the cool water
I will have to leave so
I do turn on the cold
And only cold and dwell
In the way it swirls around the hot
Feeling the twist of each next to my skin
Loving the confusion
The way the water plays out
And delights me with my own ambiguity.
Cold and hot
But never lukewarm
That would never feel clean.