i allow the
fog
of slow running
bathwater
to enfold
me
like a tongue with
sultry plans,
on a dried out
day
with no aims beyond
this soak.
steamy
desire’s eyes bleed
through their
lids,
a heaving heart beats
through its
ribs,
lights dim–
and shallow breaths
quicken..
as endorphins
kick in.
hands in the garden 
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