You stand, showering.
Naked. A scarecrow
with no crows to scare,
no crops to protect.
You wash your hair
and tighten tired eyes against
the steady barrage of
shampoo threatening to blind you,
if only for a stinging second,
and you consider letting it.
As I wash you vigorously,
sponge in hand,
your raw skin bleeds.
You do not notice so
I keep on scrubbing,
too scared to stop.
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