Imaginary Ordinary

The dishwater suds
stretch white around your hands
like new wool
around your dry red winter skin

and how could I express my sentiments
to you now, every thought is wrapped in words
that won't stick, like the grit and gristle
on plate and kettle that will be scrubbed clean off

and what's left set on the rack to drip
as every bit of fiction from this frame
of imaginary ordinary.