Personal Business

I'm up late again, unable to sleep, not wanting
the memory of your visits to leave my present
thoughts. I denied myself for three days you
know, three long days without pleasure, and for no
other reason that I could enjoy you all the more.
It was nearly an impossible feat.

So polite you are, each time you call. You ask me
what I'd like to do, as if it might be possible
that I'd want to catch a movie, rather than be
caught by you. Could it be any more obvious that
I want nothing more than to forget the sounds of
the city I live in, forget the shape of the bed
I left, ignore the scent of the bleached hotel
sheets, and just be bathed by you?

You sneak up on my back like a hot bath, nearly
too much to handle at first but it doesn't take
long before I'm sure I never want to leave the
fond embrace. Three days of built up angst are
stirred within me as you hands map an uncharted
course on my body, seeking and easily finding the
most sensitive terrain. Visions of the claw
foot tub in my old apartment pour their way into
my mind, warm and inviting just like your gaze.
Your body doesn't seem so unfamiliar as it has in
the past. We play and splash into each other with
as much delight as a young child with a bathtub
full of toys.

As with any luxurious soaking, never long enough,
we must leave before the waters turn too chilled.
Back to the real world, we find ourselves racing,
returned to the ties that bind us, and the
comfort to which we cleave.