The Unblinking Side

You set the cup on the edge of the sink,

a soft click of acrylic against the rim.

The water goes cloudy as the salt starts to sink

while the light in the hallway grows dim.

I’m sitting on the mattress, peeling my socks,

waiting for the bed to take us both in.

But there’s a new silence that the nightstand unlocks,

where your body ends and the plastic begins.

That painted iris stares out through the glass,

watching the ceiling while you turn to the wall.

I wait for the mechanical feeling to pass,

but tonight, there’s no human rhythm at all.