Submerged in a procelein prison, I note

the water is the color of sea foam,

of salt, 

of something that should be deeper than two feet


It's strange that I can no longer stretch my legs out


Gangly as each awkward hair which sprouts from them

my kneees peek from the surface,

gasping for breath, choking

on the seduction of an opportunity to relax,

unwilling to face submission

as sea level creeps, rubbing up on them


I like the warmth but 

the drowsy feeling makes Me weary.

I no longer like the heavy feeling of drowning.


I hestitate to press the button which summons jacuzzi jets

for fear that I will enjoy them too much. 

that i will feel a thousand bubble arms 

revere my naked body and say

this is comforting


With great effort, I lean forward. 

I stand up.

I Wait as the droplets skitter over my sturdy knees.

They were never fully submerged.


With a black widow stride

I climb out of the tub

fist immediately clenching dry towel

which accepts My wetness, 

drinks the taste of Me, 

and asks for nothing more 

as I cloak myself.


I pull the towel tighter

as the last particles of my first bath

in six years

falls from my skin.

Pores already tightening against bathroom chills

not so happy being exposed.


In this moment I decide

A Queen deserves luxury, yes,

but the tradeoff for freedom

is less comfort than this tub will allow.


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