In a pool of words I take a bath every night.

Drowning?

That’s when poems start floating on the surface.

The dirt in my eyes

or the one found in between my toes

clings onto the dot of the I’s

and sleeps on the curve of the u’s  

Cleanliness?

That’s not what baths are for

For moans and screams

I hope

New verses

Simmer,

Simmer

My body in a pool of words

Do accents also float?