Your love runs
like water over me. When the drops dance
on my skin, they are your fingertips,
searching, as if you can simply pry open my rib cage,
find my heart beating underneath layers of bone
for you, even after all this time.
Your love is the stream pressing
on my shoulders, heavy, but consistent.
I feel you cleanse me,
strengthen me, remind me
of who I am. Of who we are,
Your love is the shower falling from the faucet,
you burn. But still I sink
into the heat of you, of your love,
all-consuming. Still I step, close my eyes,
lean my head back. Still I drown,
willingly, in you.
Your love is the gentle sprinkle
over my bruises and scars, touching me
as if you can lift the broken color from my skin, smooth
the cuts and grooves until I no longer ache.
Your love is the cool, the hot, the temperature that changes
as I become comfortable with the feel of you
again. I let the bubbles glide over my hands, my feet.
I watch the condensation slide slowly down the edge of the tub.
And I relax, reminded that your love is like water,