bathing

sweet nectar
and soap
from a green bottle fly
does not yield
does not cleanse
this water
will not die quietly
the surface broken
a mantle piece
candle wax
and sour milk
a bath of molten winter
frigid with rust
so i must
go beneath the mirrored pool
sticky honey
blood red with sin
mixed with bleach
i scrub the sky
and hope to wash my eyes clean
of ashes
my past
has passed me by