Dry hands race the others' cuticles.
Small God-given lines circle around the knuckles - one two three four five - tightly until they become white. Whites of eyes turn towards your dry hands and newly wet lips -
analyzing and underestimating and wondering.
One pair of eyes - one two - clench together in disgust and repulsion, followed by
several damp tongues pointed your way.
Your dry white skin - one - turns red red red turns hot hot hot.
Socks stick to your feet and knees stick to
each other, as if there isn't a way to face this alone.
Alone - one. Your heart - one - pounds so loudly that
your ears - one two - can't comprehend what the
new white eyes and dry lips are saying.
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