On being Wet

I am as wet as I have ever been and she is not here. 

I am wet with feelings I cannot name, with feelings that stick to the roof of my mouth until I swallow and they slide down my throat. 

I am wet with this city, with the noises of sirens at night, with the stench of Saturdays.

I am wet with failed attempts to forget and remember.

I am wet with an ash that falls out of my fingers.

I am wet with misunderstanding and miscommunication. What is it to be wet?

I am wet forever because in her I was fully submerged. 

I am wet indefinitely because in her I wanted to drown. 

I am wet and dirty and walking through this city collecting every sound and strange eyebrow on the bottom of my wet jeans. 

I am wet with noises of suffering across seas and yet I am suffocating on my own sabbatical. 

I am wet with words that I do not understand. 

I am wet with words I do not understand.

I am way wet like the stem of a near-rotting flower

I am wet like a floor-tile in a poorly-drained-shower

I am wet just about everywhere except where it matters

I am wet with a world that flat-tires my shoes

I am wet with a home that sticks to my shoes

I am wet with a girl that clings to my shoes

I am wet on my ankles from the hands of the girl that clings to my shoes

I am wet on my ankles from the blood of the hands that I cut off of the girl that clings to my shoes.

I am wet with this that drags behind my body I am wet with outlines that I do not know I am wet with instructions that I cannot follow I am wet with directions that I will not follow IamwetwithamillionrealitiesthatIcannotcomprehendandwithwatersthatIcannotnameand

I AM WET WITH A THIRST THAT I DO NOT TASTE!