When the taps run with tears

In the facecloth parcel up the little cry. Let it well with the suds. With your fingers, with what is left, crunch up the crystals from the soap dish. Rub such salt against forearm, shoulder, shin and knee skin; sand out the rough grains of today. In the giant bowl of liquid, soak off the

Don’t Waste Paris

Don’t waste the joy of new places on absent sources of heartache. Don’t Waste Paris on a Broken Heart.