A Bed, a Bath
My 70th Birthday
It thrills me still: the curve of her naked hip, the freckles on her shoulders, the scar along her lower spine; the softness of skin, the warmth of thighs, the grip-ability of breasts and behind. Oh! and her smells — skin, hair, the delicious down there. Turn, now, let me see your face — the happy wrinkles, the small, shimmering eyes, the lips rushing to me murmuring happy birthday, aren’t we lucky, we won the lottery, hm? This world, so sad, so much suffering and fear. And loneliness. But we hit the jackpot.
Would you like to take a bath?
A different kind of naked than in bed. Buoyancy. Her shiny balloon belly with the hysterectomy scar. Her evaporating pubic hair. The paleness of my legs. The discoloration on my ankles, which means nothing and never goes away. The red blood spots on my belly, and the vague triangle patch on my saggy chest.
My aching knee. Her injured shoulder.
I thank the stars for hot baths. I thank the stars that I can still get into one. With her.