Pink Skin

Goosebumps are reserved

for a hot bath at midnight,

when all the world’s asleep

and silence is dead.


A ripple of prickling flesh

as toe by toe she enters the water

scaldingly perfect and still,

the sensation of memory

of all baths spent the same way,

turning her skin pink

in shuddering delight.


Before her eyes, past selves

shift and merge into present bones;

a girl of ten

who should be pillow breathing,

a girl of fifteen

who spent all day dreaming,

a girl of eighteen

whose nights are fleeting,

a woman of twenty three

who is healing.


The heat and the bubbles are the same,

time capsules of years and a day,

comforting hands

and words softly spoken.

She wonders if others draw baths this way.


All the world’s asleep,

silence is dead,

whilst she tucks herself in

-to lukewarm existence

and finally feels safe.



Image credit. 

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