Passion In Nine Tiles

Written for my fiance in “bathtub crayon”; nine different colors on nine different tiles of the bathtub wall, in the shape of a V.

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I step in and close the door. The tub is cool beneath my feet, making me shiver. I turn the water on, the bath faucet, and gasp at the sudden cold spilling over my toes. The painful cold only lasts a moment before the hot water warms me. Tiny puckers blossom all over me at the interplay of cool and warm. (tile one, written in red)

With the shower door closed, steam quickly builds, soaking the air until I, with sweat and steam, am coated in moisture. I imagine that I glisten, beautifully ignoring the unflattering yellow light and painfully honest mirror. Flush, like the steam, rises in a slow roil, changing me from winter-white to summer’s pink. (tile two, written in light green)

I draw deep breaths, relishing the heaviness of the air as my lungs fill. I breathe again and again in quick succession, tasting, drinking the air now. My tongue slicks out between slow parting lips. I smell water and tile and soaps with each breath. I breathe in deep, measured rhythm. (tile three, written in dark blue)

Finally, I turn the water from tub to shower and let the biting heat kiss my skin in a new way. Spray ricochets from the walls and door and most importantly, me. Miniscule needles all bent to my sensation. A sweetly blistering cascade of never-ending droplets. Slowly, I am overwhelmed, overcome, overtaken. (tile four, written in gold)

It touches me, as I touch me, commanding and possessive. My hand chases and becomes the water, brushing, teasing, running along my everywhere until I know I no longer glisten. I shine. Moments pass, those I do not count nor mourn as a new heat, more insistent, is born. (tile five, written in purple)

I cry… Can I cry? Should I? Yes, oh yes and yes and yes again. I cry over and over again into the streaming flow of near scald, breathless. I let my mouth fill, open as it is for my cries. The water receives them like an offering, and I, worshipping, am rewarded with a burst of sear, hotter still. (tile six, written in orange)

My bliss, my agony… hungrier now as I spend until I am spent. I caress until I am touched and breathe until my panting subsides in slow, measured steps. A tremble now, a moment here, glorious and free. Just one single sweet moment until I am myself again. (tile seven, written in black)

I need nothing more, in this perfect forever, with lava pouring down over my all. Eyes closed, I breathe and taste and the heat, my heat and that heat coursing still over my face, breasts, arms, belly. Over me, in all forms. I shimmer in the spray. Peace kisses me with tender care. (tile eight, written in yellow)

Oh yes, softly and gently and slowly yes. And now, sweet now, an eternal nothing more; just for a last, lingering moment. It is done. I am done. The heat has scalded away everything until I am naught but clean leather stretched thin over boiled bones, empty of all that I brought. I reach for the soap and smile. (tile nine, written in green)