Step in, back straight,
hair pinned with tortoiseshell.
Your delight is in this artifice
we make tonight, this lovers’ game,
a water play in sloping porcelain.
The Nag Champa burns sweet,
the room’s aglow with candlelight
reflecting on the bubbles, foaming
prisms, fragile rainbow eddies
clinging, drifting, every tiny breath
or shift revealing or concealing
heat-pinked shining flesh.
The rivulets are slipping, sliding
snaking beads of moisture
steaming down the arc of silk
or pattering in drip and drops,
gentle light rain that falls
in plips and plops from the sponge
you hold above. Oh your eyes,
smiling on my arch-seraphic senses,
swimming in a sea of soapy love.
- Add a