Forget that moment when you absent-minded
pushed open the bathroom door and stepped into
steam to see her standing there,
drops of water a jewelled net
sparkling in sunlight shining.
“Sorry, dear.” and stumble out,
pulling the door closed too loudly for calm.
Go down to her mother writing
by the fire, gentle light kind to aging skin –
faint wrinkles forgiven by a loving eye.
Hold her close in an excess of affection.
Hold her tight in an effort to forget.
Forget the glory of firm breasts flushed with heat
an embarassed blush rising over pale skin
a wealth of auburn hair partly bound
in a white bath towel.
Hair the exact shade of your own.
August 5, 1993