Bath Time

You are sitting in the bath

Between my legs

And I touch the skin of your back

Through the flannel clinging there

Yes warm to the finger ends

The dampness of the pockmarked flannel

Against the firmness of your butter skin

I lean over to lick now.

The rivulets of milky water

Free themselves from the flannel

And find their way into the crevices of your spine

To meet the gasps of steam rising.

This lazy suspension of our enfolded bodies

In the lateness of a Sunday morning

Is a sauna for our very souls.

Water holds us to the truth

In this tub.

Our throats must work hard now

As  our sated purring turns into  eager  talking. 

Open,  tender, angry, free

Our criss cross words caress

In muted echo above our heads-

A music of speech on iron and water.

Without our bodies against each other

Back to chest

My Hands wet under the curves of your breasts

In counterpoint near motionless

We would not be able to talk like this.

Round the corner the church bells ring in the afternoon

And we think of things for lunch.

You stand up to soap your body down

As cooling water laps against my ribs.

Time to get out soon.