to kiss you

i held my breath for two minutes this morning.
i stood, naked, in the shower
with my face in the spray of hot water.
i thought about the color of roses,
the smell of old books,
and what it meant to be alone.

i thought about the time you showered with me. the water gave you a halo
when you washed my hair,
soaped my breasts,
and put bubbles on my cheeks.

we laughed a lot that morning.
i made biscuits and gravy.
it ruined your favorite shirt.

the water was too hot then;
it burned my cheeks but i couldn't pull away.
my heart thumped in my throat
and my fingertips screamed for air.
finally,
when i thought i would pass out,
i gasped for a breath of moist air.

i missed the way it felt to kiss you.