Looking Through Stained Glass


  Taking your head
Into my hands
I can not help but notice
Your glow of pleasure
Juxtaposed against
A small frown
Crossing your brow
It is the only sign
Of the minor strain
From being arched just so
Against cool stainless steel

Performing the deed
As you have taught me
I cup my palms wondering
Whether I am applying
Enough pressure
Your closed eyes
And peaceful expression
Belie the slight intakes of breath
Telling me your are in fact awake
As my manual labor
Refreshes you

Much too soon
I am faced with your thick lather
Forcing passage
Through my fingers
I watch as drops
Of your thick white lather
Loses its cling for life
And slip from my fingers
Into the sink,
Before I rinse and repeat

I love our ritual
Of washing each others hair
The first weekend of spring

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© 2005 Raivenne (All rights reserved)

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