Daphne’s Body in Rupert’s Bathroom
Daphne used to go to the bathroom with the door open;
Daphne used to let Rupert watch as she pulled the tampon out,
a bedraggled, mystical animal on a string
that he would never have had a chance to see
if it weren’t for her openness (and open legs).
But lately she has been locking the door quietly behind her.
Lately she has been peeing in private,
taking her shits and showers alone, no explanations for why the hot water
is exhausted. She doesn’t even ask him for the toilet paper
when it’s been moved to the bedroom the midnight before
for dabbing at the puddles of semen on her canvas of a stomach.
Now, now she would rather just try to shake the clinging droplets
of urine from her labia. Now, now she would rather not mention
that she can’t find the toilet paper, or that she’s been skipping
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