Water cleanses but so does fire
As last night's bonfire's reeky aroma
drifts across the lawn and
meanders through the moth eaten cabbage plot
the bath fills with water both cold and hot.
Together here, lying twixt
rag rolled walls and
thick French square tiles
yellow parrots and pink petunias,
prints by Walasse Ting
arise lanquid sheets of shifting steam
opening up polluted pores,
lounging, luxuriating, we bathe and dream
as our thighs touch and tingle
just purring like old tom cats
we savour well being and
think of breakfast as the
morning sun guilds our crumbling
brickwork, similar to
so many others on this road.
These trivial moments alter
perception of threadbare time
causing transference of reality
into make believe, broken
only by the cold draught
on my flesh as the water
gets cold and we step out
onto black and white chequered tiles.
The water a cold lagoon of
soapy suds green and gangerous
gives me cause to wonder
how water cleanses but
so does fire as your body
I gently rub
with a towel, soft and yellow
sweetly, knowing that pleasure
gives fire to hunger
which is symptomatic of hope.
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