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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