I turned the tap expecting bite

I turned the tap, expecting bite

of cold or comfort's gentle heat.

Instead, a flat, unmoving light

of water, neither sour nor sweet.

It coated fingers, slick and slow,

not cutting through the grime or dread.

Just there, a lukewarm, hazy flow,

like words unmeant, or prayers unsaid.

It didn't wake, it didn't soothe,

it just existed, dull and bland.

No sharp relief, no simple truth,

just nothing, cupped within my hand.