The Shower

Slick water tickles down my neck like the pads of your fingers
Shea butter soft, like a Dove, like Olay
or so I imagine.
Sinking into the saddle
between my breasts
some rivers overrun their banks
like naughty knuckles all knotted in need
wanting with feverish want,
some rivers go rushing wild
and flinging free
off the precipices of my puckered nipples
like lovesick lemmings.
The whole while the water drums against my spine
and I imagine you
heartbeat crashing against my mine.

You are faceless and armless and torso less
yet the architect of this public bathhouse was kind
for the stall’s wall stops at your calf
and I can tell by your toes
how they curl like the shell of a conch,
that I could scoop back swoon in your
undulating currents.
your soft and cared for heel
tells me you are a goddess
a faceless, armless, torso less goddess!

Stepping slowly your feet lift water like liquid glass
toes arching and bending
arching and bending
sliding your heel across the tile
I hear it groan
Such exquisite, white, little soapstone feet
Feet
that
floor
me

Sinking into your song
the water wraps ‘round and ‘round my body
sending me spiraling
a continuous fall
a dressing and an undressing
in a sanctuary of present pure nakedness.
Your feet turn and turn like a hypnotist’s wand
I imagine streams slowly sliding
off the tops of your shoulders
and speeding around the steep stones
of your spine
cascading into the lower back’s supple arch
then riding the smooth curve down
down,
down,
until finally gravity pulls the water from you.
I imagine each drop mapping in mosaic majesty your memory
You shut off your shower
but I linger,
let the slosh of the last of your bath water
come