Poetry: Clean, by NES

I can’t help but wonder what soap you use.

With all the promises of shower kisses and

warm, wet embraces.

I can’t help but think about what your favorite scent is.

Or what just how hot you like the water

Or if we’ll even fit in such a small space

Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Maybe it’s the way our bodies feel when we finally touch.

Hands roaming, lips dancing across every inch of skin

I’ll never get sick of your body.

It requires daily worship,

and I will be at your altar.

And as you give me the same attention I freeze.

I don’t know how I got so lucky,

having a beautiful being like you

crave me as much as I do them.

Thinking about me in the same ways.

The thoughts that come from deep within me.

Of how we’d get dirty again once we’re clean.