Sanitiser

You make me feel

unclean, with your sparkling rub,

acidic sheen. You say: bathe

in me, in my immaculate sea …

Stop taunting. Spotlighting

my rot. I hide my hands

or blots of truth stain my palms

blue. I want to swim in you

but don’t know how to – see,

I do it now, and you beam:

front-crawl failure, your hands aren’t fit

for me, I am pristine, you are like a city …

I lack your clean wit.

You have a lagoon. I have dirty rocks,

deflated balloon, heavy marrow, too much

to fit inside a polished vessel.