Water on my Skin

I squish my water bottles as I drink
so I can slurp the water through a tunnel,
snake it past my teeth, afraid of getting wet.

A splashing dolphin lamps sits above
my tv, a prize from Chuck E. Cheese,
grows dusty, always left unplugged.

I don’t shower in the rain or touch
the garden hose, I watch as roses wilt
and die, heavy with buds that will never grow.