CupsOfSilver

Positioned so that
Your chest and my eyes
Share common ground
I feel my bristle bangs
Swept away by artist’s hands
Then the busy rumbles
Of your electric razor.

My dark feather down
Flakes around my shoulders
And sticks to my cheeks.
I touch a timid hand
To the dip in your back—
You, my solid support
While pieces of 
what was 
once me
Softly meet the floor.

When all is said and done
You’ll quickly step 
Out of my little sanctuary.
I’ll sweep up parts
Of my old self,
Then wash away
whatever remains.

Sterling, 2022