Prescription For Love

All he every wanted was for her to
shower in front of him.
All she ever wanted was to be loved.
Who did she think she was?
It became a daily ritual.
Never on Sundays.
Fully clothed, he'd sit on a stool a few feet
away; Elmer's glue-all eyes.
She was gracious, held together
by the white paste.
In her hand was a petal pink wash cloth
sprinkled with tiny red roses, lathered
with a generous amount of lavender;
An indulgence he allowed her.
She cleansed herself meticulously
lingering in all those little
places he prescribed.
Water splashed all over him
coalescing with his own
pleasure seeking wetness.
She didn't look back too
much, just straight ahead
intent on her task.
In later years when she would
relive this time, his face
remained a mystery.
He stayed precisely fifteen
minutes. No words exchanged.
The door of passion closed,
he organized his emotions
for his real world…until
tomorrow.
A hundred dollar bill tied
with red ribbon
around a yellow rose
now sat on the stool.
She became a victim
of her own loathing;
a party to self-deception.
She needed touching,
but remained untouched
and learned how to deal
with it.
One day he didn't arrive at his
appointed time. Just like that.
The shower head has rusted.
Dried colorless rose petals
litter the tile floor.
She will always regret
not demanding more.

10/28/2014

Posted on 10/28/2014
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