in shower with love
down back water does drip
across the tiles
between breasts and buttocks
never more Beautiful than now.
every dropp is memory of our hours.
my original courage with her
and here we are not as heros,
but as middle-aged bus drivers
giving ourselves to a different cause
one of each
here clouds can't see us
ears are not listening and we are in love
in the shower
like the bus drivers
and from here our minds draw back together
we scoop up water
and wash each
backs, breasts, and buttocks.
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Comments about this poem (guttermind by M.J. Dura )
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