Water: warm water from the tap in a rush and I push the force back with a touch. One glass of wine – one is enough to take the edge to a smooth painless slide.
The water warm soaking the cloth and the soap, creamy smooth along my face, neck, hands and glides. I wipe away the sand, powder fine, a day’s worries gone.
I light the candles while I wash – unlike the morning – the sharp heat of shower and light, the evening is soft and slow and though tired I seem younger somehow.
No, no I’m not disillusioned, I’m fine with 49 and I’ll be better with 50. The skin is still soft and my senses even more refined – I have less reason to hurry, no excuse to miss detail.
Warm cloth, wet and then pull in the cooler evening air, flickering light and music everywhere. Bliss.
A space my own, cluttered and cleaned and set to right – projects and poetry and novels to write. Cloth warm on cooled skin, tightens cold and waits for him. A wonderful wait.