It screams with the voice of a dying plane,
blowing lukewarm air that smells of ozone
and the panic of a thousand wet palms.
I hold my fingers to the nozzle,
watching a single bead of water
shiver and vanish into the void.
It is a loud, electric prayer
for skin that never quite dries,
leaving me damp and humming
like a fluorescent light in a dead mall.