SHOWERHEAD by Annesha Mitha

Is there a parallel universe where 
My parent’s showerhead wasn’t
Detachable? That parallel girl
Is probably getting a lot done
Today. It would have been
Easy to avoid the knowledge
That pleasure isn’t something 
To be felt, but followed, a hand
Grappling walls that have been scratched
By other hands. When I’m bored,
I damage myself with pleasure. But 
I still wonder if the circle of my ache
Is smaller than everyone else’s. 
People speak about ecstasy with
So much trust in the word. I 
Feel nothing, then something, 
Then pride. I wouldn’t call it
Ecstasy. I tell someone I don’t love: 
It feels like an anchor dragged up
From the deep. He replies: it feels
Like a really good sneeze. 
Seeking pleasure, I give myself
A double chin. I give myself a burning
Ember. I give myself. I only
Come when I am alone or 
With a person who falls
On my skin like fine mesh, so
That I feel captured, but not bound. 
Years ago, behind a fern splattered curtain,
Water opened a door.