Lying back in a warmly scented bath,
I’m feeling for something – call it sound
out there - around - not completely heard.
There – a hum of central heating,
traffic vroom, pop music,
a human voice, muted, dark:
outside - a strimmer zips,
downstairs sons knocking
and, here, a soapy
heap of bubbles
popping
popping
tension,
in me.
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