Smoking in the bathtub-noticing the shadows from the ripples from the sudsy wanderings; they move like traffic. The curves just where the water hugs my skin is too much to fight against. Your mouth is whispering nothing, hovering around my neck. I can see your fingers coming up out of the water and finding their way flush against my thigh.
We stay until the water turns cold. I wonder how you got so bold and I tell myself to forget about facts because there are none and there never were any.
Our goosebumps tell us to make love, but we stay stuck in that tub, tracing water trails on eachother's backs and palms.
Once we've reached dry land, we'll lay in bed, in our towels and tell how we were. Yes, we were bad kids. Did bad stuff not on accident. We'll say, "it's okay."
I'll kill that dry spell in your chest with slow soft beats. I'll get on top of you and place two fingers over those lips and shhhhhh your urgency.
We're not dead, we are warm. Our blood flows like our family histories and our hair is still wet.
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1 comment:
bathtubs are gross, but i really like some of the language you've used here.
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