Right Now, In My Bathroom

I see

the head of yours kissing mine,

these two toothbrushes, touching,

laying side by side above the sink

gives me hope of how they’ll find,

way further down the line—

after enough neighbors complain about the stink,

after our time, long-lived, of loving each other,

held for decades by circular motions

made from chasing our dreams,

as if laid by hands, until now, unforeseen—

our old, used-up bodies, touching together.

By Joshua Wren