bathrobeI grip my sudsy scalp, trying to wash out every whisper of his skin, his breath, his convincing words and broken promises.

This isn’t the usual small circles, a gentle lather. It’s jolted and furious and directionless, how I felt when I first found myself falling in love with him.

I told him no and he wanted to hear yes and suddenly every boundary was invaded.

The suds course down the slow slopes of my hips and grovel at my feet, begging me to return to him, the same familiar supplication he’ll do again and again until I can finally cleanse myself of his grasp.

Welcome to Microvember, my take on NaBloPoMo. Each day this month I’ll be posting microfiction, short vignettes, or poetry, accompanied by photography. See more Microvember posts here

5 thoughts on “Lather

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