Steaming water for my broken heart,
Scented soaps for salty tears.
I try to scrub it all away,
The memories and years.
Scour now, arms once which held you,
Attention, hands which may have touched.
Each part in turn desperately tried
To be cleansed and purified,
So I might finally forget.
But how to scrub clean a heart?
The most affected part.
Shall I cut it out or cry it?
It hurts enough for me to try
It either way.
I doubt there yet remains
Enough water in the world’s whole drains
To wash me free from you.