36 Minute Shower

First, it was the business,
temperatures, string-pull switches,
fingers drizzled in an upturned ta-ta.
My own smell shivers before absolution.

Then comes you
injecting the box's drone with twinkles.
Involuntary hums begin to rumble
from my tummy, round
from lastnight's late, late food
in honour of you.

Muscles sink, shoulders
lose an inch or two.
I taste you with a long, slow sound
vibrating my lungs,
reaching out to the ocean.
A whalesong may reach you tomorrow.

The tray fills, covering insoles
in cooling water,
my dream awakens with practical tasks
as steam grasps at my throat.

Oily globs, lather flops
stick to the white tile.
You return to make my eyes close
as a smile breaks, unchallenged.

Both hands move south,
slink over a slidy film,
I mustn't, but I will
slip you up inside the library of me,
flip all the pages
you will ever need to see.

Reddened now, greedy
under the eye-blinking rain.
It seems like an hour has gone.

Pruned, I drag a towel,
wipe droplets away
but smell you in
to draw upon all day.