James fell in love with his sink.
Well, by this point he had just pumped so much into it, I suppose.
He pawed at the faucet.
Leaned back and admired the curves of the waste pipe.

This morning I was brushing my teeth. It's a requirement I fulfil every morning, and I do so with an electric toothbrush. It was upon that moment, mouth loaded with toothpaste, toothbrush head whipping away, that I decided to write a poem about a sink. I looked at my tap, it's not a particularly ergonomic design. Not only is it a weird square thing, it hurts if you slip while trying to activate it. I do not love this tap. I drilled down into those emotions, worked my way through the pain, and set my mind into that of a man who enjoys the sight of his sink. Oh, what it must be like to enjoy such interactions.