Poetry

The Sensuous Experience of Washing Dishes

The soap suds are purifying

An immaculate act

My brusque manicured hands

sensually stroke

the tainted surface of each dish

 

It’s feminine, yet

anti-feminist

 

The pink nail-polish softly

displays its hue through the

soap bubbles  like  bursts of bubble gum

 

Through the glass lid, I see

the reflection of my curls

draping over my shoulders –

shoulders that are a pair of maracas

kissed by the sun

 

The curls tickle me, like the

playful tip of a fuchsia feather.

 

Water flows

Like translucent silk

delicately grazing my skin

It’s weightlessness is liberating

 

A stream of new beginnings

 

I glance over my shoulder

And notice David’s playful grin

as he watches the gentle wiggle of my hips

 

Peering through the window, I

secretly hope for more dirty dishes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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