Water's Loom

Steam-blurred glass, a whisper soft and low,
My guarded self, it starts to softly unsew.
My hands trace patterns in the indigo deep,
Where quiet truths begin to slowly seep.
A silent current pulling, gentle as a tide,
No place for secrets left for me to hide.

These bathtub confessions, threads unspooling slow,
A fragile weaving, only we can know.
Yeah, bathtub confessions, where the deep things bloom,
Dispelling shadows in this intimate room.

The heat, a gentle dye, begins to stain my core,
Unveiling stories I had locked behind the door.
The fragile knots I tied, they start to gently fray,
In this ephemeral peace, I give myself away.
Like ancient scripts revealed on parchment worn and thin,
The truest pattern of the soul within.

These bathtub confessions, threads unspooling slow,
A fragile weaving, only we can know.
Yeah, bathtub confessions, where the deep things bloom,
Dispelling shadows in this intimate room.

This silent incantation, in the warmth I feel,
A mended seam of self, for moments made so real.
The ancient echoes rise, within this clouded breath,
A fragile offering, escaping fear of death.

The water cools, but threads of truth remain,
A quiet hum through my ancestral vein.