I love to shower.
I love to shower so I can wash the stain of your unwanted hands from my breasts.
Under my shower’s firm shaft,
I can gauge the liquid’s temperature as it caresses the nape of the neck
to the small of my back.
Under my shower, I play footsie with myself too
Steamy to stoic

hot to cold
then back hot again.

Teasing my limits to no avail.
As I suppose, my unripened hips once teased you?

Now my frame presents frail
A sacrificial lamb underneath the fury of an asphyxiating current.
Wet, sedated.
by a gentle knowing that at least within the confines of this purifying downpour,

I’m in charge.

In a stifling darkness,

just the tip

of your finger traces the stiff knot of my belly button.
Recoil.
I recoil from the fluorescent images plaguing the black lids of shut eyes.

Please. Tell me.

Will this baptism of vanity reclaim my self-worth?
How much longer to sever the umbilical cord that crowns your victory in exchange for my
innocence.
I count seconds to perpetuity,
bound underneath the shower I’ve sworn to love so dearly.
My body bear’s witness.
A soured lubricant of humidity shrivels the hands you once held
Tight, gripped,

limp.

Pendulous, weighted fists that tear open the taught skin across my bare chest.
My heart exposed, uneasy
pleading for sanctity.

the heart that carries all questions spoken and stilled.

I love to shower.