Bathtub

Recently scrubbed with bleach

and milk 

in the antiqued bathroom of an old house. 

She is there, 

warmer than the water. 

Her body hovers over yours. 

Her hand caresses you,

slick from the 

nectar 

of the 

fountain 

in your 

maidenhood. 

The bubbles, now wet and heavy with the heat, 

smell of spices, 

of jasmine and light, 

of snow and the sixties. 

You come hard, 

sucking 

sucking

sucking

water into your lungs. 

She holds you under 

and you sleep

with her in your heart 

and your unseeing eyes.