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 ❤
300triedbywater.com 