The gifts come in streams

she reaches and asks for a pen

softly touching my arm, she says,

” I have to write a letter to my lover.”

Floating across the room, she turns,

with a button she slips from my shirt.

Bare bottom, by the time I reach her

the steam in shower envelopes the room.

A fog of sorts mixed with her perfume

there are secrets behind the curtain.

Her silhouette is the beautiful garden,

she bends to wash her toes.

Slowly drawn in, the water is too warm.

Her skin doesn’t seem to be bothered,

still the perfect hue, the water trickles

down and across her curves. Her shoulder,

pinned and anchored the mood returns.

Soap and a rich lather, hands slide easily in

muscles relax, time and attention spills.

The water softens the mood, the room

very softly spins. Over and to the edge

the sensitive flower wilts, the walls close in

around the silence, the water gently stops.

Out on heated floor tile, the moment comes

and is enveloped in sunbathed silence.

I reached, she handed me a towel,

outstretched over shoulders,

she dries me first.

Her perfect eye for detail, the perfectionist,

she controls the mood in the room.

In some perfect way she captured me

under no specific terms, I am free to love.

Dressed and ready, she reaches for my arm,

“Don’t forget this lover.”

She hands me her special note.

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