"Antibacterial" by Tulsa House

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The soap in the dispenser at my new job

smells like your parents old house: 

a mix of cotton and oats—

as strange as that may sound. 

 
And my stomach hurts like it did the last

night we spoke. You said I was irrational,

but I was really just lost, drowning 

in desperate desire to be found. 

 
By you, I had assumed. But as wheat wavers 

in the wind on my drive home, 

I feel a new wave of wisdom wash over me. 

 
It was always about you. I wanted to be the sun for once—

and so you left before you could suffocate on my rays. 

So now I ask: do you, once-lover, finally feel free? 

 
If not, you can find me at my new work, worshipping a damn soap dispenser.