Tracing my fingers

across your skin

is like drawing

a bath:

the rushing water,

the stampede

of your heart.

The way the water

pools and swirls,

the lines

in your knuckles.

The quiet stillness,

a fountain of safety,

a lake

creamy and pale.

The light bouncing

up onto the ceiling,

the sparkle

in your eyes.

My reluctance to leave

once fully submerged,

stroking every side

touching every curve.

Your goosebump relief

sinking in, to be swaddled

in my bathwater arms.


© Kristiana Reed 2018

Image: pinterest


18 thoughts on “Bathwater

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