Dead Body in the Bath

Her hair floats in the water
like old roots. Her piqued nipples,
defiant, jut up from swollen breasts
to linger

on the surface, coddled
by soap bubbles. Her right arm hangs
over the rim. The tips of her fingers

I turn to the mirror,
see myself in it, clouding over.
Outside, I hear muffled voices,
drumming on the door.