Count the beads of sweat

They drip from your chin to your collar

It is left soaked

Like love spilling over into a wet sea

The salty taste is bitter but cool to the touch

You swim in unnerving fantasies

Driven by an anxiety you can’t explain

It is a bath in cold water produced by self-indulgence

Moistened by the adrenaline and expectation of sweat

Love always, Esha <3