Shower

I could feel the suds tickling my palms
as I lathered my hands back and forth,
massaging what little soap there was left
onto your back, over your shoulders, arms,
and buttocks, concentrating
on those raised, reddened, trouble-
spots along your shoulders, making sure to
cover every fleshy surface with medicated
froth, which invaded our nostrils with
a sharp, pungent odor, capable
of performing dermatological miracles
while allowing me to caress
your precious person, yielding to my
determined fingertips like
bread dough, as other
areas grew and rose to the occasion –
the spray of the shower-head delighting
your sensitive skin as the suds were rinsed
to the porcelain bottom and into
the mouth of the drain, while I paid
close attention to that part of you
protruding proudly from
your mass of brown and auburn
curls, teasing, tantalizing, stimulating
until the spray turns cold,
and we relocate to the
soft, gold cotton of my bed.