The Faucet

The faucet in our kitchen is getting old
I had touched it
When we came to see the apartment
The first one of our married life
The faucet had moved up and down and right and left
To converse with
The echo our words birthed
To give each other company
It coughed and spit
A few words in exchange
The heads turned to see and listen
Pleased by attention
The faucet began flowing
Weaving words and verses
Warm and cool together
The apartment awakened
Life flowing through its veins
Carried us into its heart
It is two years since we moved in
The water no longer is sweet
The words have become brackish
We both thought
Maybe it is time
Things, as us, age
Faucets in particular
Wear and tear of motion
Of moisture held within
From outside we fixed
Inexperienced as we were of inner workings
A faucet filter atop its lips
Now a switch governs
The sweetness of its water
A light blinks green
To ensure us that everything is fine
It seems fine
But when we withdraw to our beds
The silence sneaks in
The spaces between us
The water held within
The faucet’s lips, like words,
Fall, one by one
With a sound lulling us to sleep
and sometimes to think, if
The water within its lips
Is sweet or brackish
We wish it be as sweet
when nothing guarded
The faucet’s lips.