I get into the bath.

 The ceramic is hard and cold.

 I let the water rise around me.

 The warmth takes me 

 Like I am a child. 

I take each handle and turn

The faucet stops running

The waterfall stops 

The music outside blares

Festive tunes from a different language

What are they singing

It was nearing midnight

I stay in the tub encased in clear

The clear is not invisible 

I can see the ripples and waves 

I brought poetry with me 

The Waste Land and Other Poems

A small 50 page book worth three dollars

Poetry written by T.S. Elliot

I read through pages 3 to 9

As normally there is a repeating stanza

Speaking of women who discuss Michelanglo

He rhymes every two verses

The poetry flows

Almost as bioluminesces glows

Both so natural

Both so beautiful

It ends with mermaids

Funny since I am in water 

It fades out

The last word is drown

I rest the book on the teal bath mat

I let myself sink into the depths of the shallow bath

My face sinks in 

I dont plug my nose as I used to

I stay down 

In my mind it lasted seven seconds

I come up

I breathe

I stay

I stare

I look off at the silver with lime 

It encases the space between matte and shine

The day was good 

If only they were all like so