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.
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