U: Venus &; Fur

In the slosh and wallow of the bath, I
curve a leg through rising steam,
admire the line from knee
to dripping dancer-pointed feet,

scrape steel blades across my skin.
A bathwater-hot, shivery
anticipation of tonight -
soapy smooth, his hands on me.

The razor is called Venus,
comes in Passion Pink, promises
that Legs Stay Smoother Longer,
ploughs a hairless path through foamy drifts.

But, blunted, underneath his sheets,
beneath my skin, hairs stubble through.
He'll have to take that too;
the spiky rough of me that pairs the smooth.