...bath on, per usual
my deluge surges
through the faucet
hot like I like
foamed like I like
I lay
ribboned in wet
I close my eyes
and slip under
a chardonnay float
by my side
just in case, of course
I do this thing
a melody on repeat
til I see every lick, vocable
til I see his voice, his face
and my own bow-tie
white, with a large pearl
at its knot
I drift along
wishing of swords
hoping of apples
gilded over for my own pleasure
horned for black feathers
and velvet beaks
I swan,
dreaming of that peak
wishing of that peak
hoping for that peak
in the foggy distance
far, far away...
