Lead limbs drop in a hot bath. Water slops to the overflow. Steam hangs like a sigh, sticks to the mirror. Incursions of night air, from a thin line of open window, touch cold on heated skin, hold off the tendency to sleep. Floating and sleeping slip together, too easily.
Spiders and flies make a tapestry, on the white square of ceiling; spin a warning.
Plug un-nested; drains out dirt and somniferous danger. Weight returns, reluctantly.
A towel wrapped shadow, in the fogged mirror, slowly combs wet hair.