From the start my star-struck lover had her eyes stuck in mine, never changing her gaze doubled over love-sick never complaining how much it hurt the ache from being apart. It wasn’t until we agreed to meet up in a mud filled room our once clean and pristine clothes finally laid ruin. Each night since we get even filthier understanding this sickness truly can’t be helped. Until she made us bathe I promised I’d help clean each and every inch with her homemade bar of soap. The rich and illustrious feel, privilege or otherwise, I should keep it down my impossible stare entwined with hers until we were both staring at a steamed up mirror. How pretty was her form she saw herself for the first real time this was her miracle. Admiring herself naturally strong features hands touch inside. Eyes follow curved lines heavily soaped parts feel the textures suds start above shoulders rolling down her spine, just above hips my favorite part the choice of words she uses. I drown in her thoughts and whether I like it or not I’ll listen to every word until we’re toweled off. She pushes me back hard with both palms with that look of hers she’s my trigger guide, just as we start all over getting filthy again in her room.
