I sit and wait. Taking up space with my cold emptiness.
The universe or a bad memory. You ignore me
most of the time. Preferring her waist-high purity
(sometimes even dipping Yourself in her, a porcelain quickie
for a whore) and his debauched tastes.
 
When you do finally turn to me
for your relaxation, you wash me out before
you use me. How am I the dirtiest of the three?
You fill me and you fill me, until I almost
overflow. You make me so dam hot I almost
 
scald you when you drown your lifetime’s weight
within me. The dirt you always accumulate
unintentionally, a roughly soaped slough of skin,
and sometimes your tears are all you bring
to nourish me.
 
When you are done you groan as you hulk
your lazy, reddened, sweaty bulk out of me,
stand there naked with your back to me, wipe yourself down
and leave me alone to drain myself away
as nothingness sighs into me again.