In my bathtub
legs have to bend
under the bubbles
smelling of lavender and vanilla
and fading fast; faster
they float off on some
imaginary breeze
when my fingers skim the surface
and make ripples in the
fading chalky streams of soap.
My head rests on pale
yellow tiles and my one arm
lazily sinks
while the other tips a large
red wine glass full
of tannins and aged oak
and hints of spice and vanilla
to relax the
fading chalky streams of soap.
I finish the wine,
crumple my body,
sink my head
under
water
till it spills over the sides
onto a canary yellow bath rug.
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