Her rounded buttocks the stamp, the fogged walls her pages
She balances like a stork or crane, No, that’s not right
A gazelle. She is a gazelle graceful as she holds one sleek
leg in the air and with a swipe of a razor, cuts the hair with
a practiced hand. How does she do that?
Fog and mist shroud her in silhouette as she leans back, her topknot of hair
a cushion. A pin cushion she has jabbed two lacquered chopstick in
The mist is heaven scented. Jasmine and spice, or lavender and vanilla
I want to eat the air around her.
I watch her in reverse, the mirror a backwards world of wonder.
I’m forever nicking my chin as I watch her instead of paying
attention to the razor in my hand and lather on my face.
She is a show, a fascination of movement from one thing to the
And don’t even get me started on how she dries the diamond drops from
her svelte body. I’d be here all day drooling……
If you, as a woman lean just right against a foggy wall in a shower, you can leave an upside-down heart…. Just some random information that you all needed to know.
Enjoy the open verse.