The Bath

Breath laden islands rise and fall beneath the steam-graced surface of clear water, capped with rosettes, red-brown, silken, warm, beaded with water running in rivulets down hillsides of flesh, puddling, in the dark oval navel of desire. Water rises about kneecaps pristine and alabaster in hue. Angular shoulders hug the far end of the tub. A slender neck is held aloft, crowned with auburn hair and hazel eyes, changling orbs, of green and gold in an oval face rivaling Modigliani’s Madonna. A ruddy glow spreads across high cheekbones. The rising water submerges all, but the mounds and the porcelain neck with its upturned face, full, full of moans as tendrils, curl and coil splay upon the rocking water. Lids droop languidly, lips pout petulantly, as the water invades, buoying delicate arms, lending slip to fingertips, fingerstips ...avidly playing.. upon the pearl white key of desire.