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This Shower is Fed By a River in Egypt
Stepping under the spray of icy water he shudders
against the pressure on his purpled chest, and the
torture of this glass stall. He forgoes body wash,
willing the water alone to rid his body of sweat and sin.
It does not.
Flushed skin and uneven breaths; his thoughts
are desperate, for he knows he has been marked,
permanently, and unlike a Sharpie the evidence
will not fade after repeated scrubbing.
He has been tainted and can’t come clean.
It’s a secret though, because no one needs to know
that each of his thoughts pushes him nearer to the
fires of hell. Thoughts about attraction and bodies
that are the wrong shape, with not enough curves.
He needs this problem to disappear.
So he resolves to make it do so. This shower is
futile; instead of cleansing himself, he can only
hide and deny this condemnable love. Surely this
will save him from the fate of the eternally damned.