Wetness

The water is warm as it streams down both our bodies.

There is no greater witnessing of wetness than us.

Lathering in love, and suds, and beginnings.

I became lost in the drippings.

You, me, the faucet.

Baptized by your lips and your manhood.

Made new.

In the midst of our mist,

Drawn from our affections and hopes of glory,

We become perfectly, symmetrically,

Aqueous,

Bare and full of God’s promises to Her children.

What could heaven be if not us in perfect form?

But somehow the beautiful teeming love that we created,

has gone from spiritual to secular to sacrilegious.

Your promises of forever flowing

Have begun to resemble barren fields.

Then I realize it was all a wash.

All of it.

A stormy, soggy, sodden wash.

And I am left out to dry.