Fuschia And Eggshell Tiles

I ran a bath and filled it with the thought of you. The very face that smiles back at me in the same thought. The tub overflowed, the faucet left In the on position. I loved the perspective that you cover every inch of me. A private joy brimming over the edge of the tub. Falling onto the tile. Warming every inch. Stimulating the need for more. A personal waterfall you. And I the porcelain. Imitating the jagged rocks embracing the coming of your thought. Alluring. Cascading into the realization of the innocence of a simple touch. Feeling the need not to restrain possibility. For a split second. I felt free. Standing inside the essence of love. A love presented by you. Satisfied by the lukewarm water. The cold flourescent tiles. It doesn't move. The cold flourescent tiles. Needing to feel the warmth. The touch of something real. The reality of being stepped on. The feeling of being stagnant. Held down by dried grout between the seams. I ran a bath and filled it with the thought of you. I bathed in your very essence. Insisting that you'd stay. Leaving the faucet in the on position. Embracing the very thought of you