In a dim dark.
Under the shower.
No walls, vulgar shower curtains or all-in-one sci-fi capsules.
The toilet more a tub long away.
Weird enough.
Cooling water rolling down the dust.
Half drunken. Half canned.
Half canned, half drunken.
Wasted in a moan.
Footbathing in my urine and a most anti-bacterial showergel,
giving off a urbane flavour of pureness.
This is freedom.
