Submerged in a procelein prison, I note
the water is the color of sea foam,
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.