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In the small bathroom
where paper-brown dried flowers
climb into lovingly polished
reflections of pink and white
where a spiraled glass bottle
with a cork called Alladin
smiles its oriental mystery
into a gold-yellow lover’s candle
where a crystal bell jar
of shells that she gathered
squatting on a faraway beach
sits, sea pouring into her


He finds his razor,
his mint green toothbrush
and under a tall proud can
of shaving foam
a warm note
scribbled at midnight
while he snored
under her sheets
replete with the
food she had prepared
all her lonely life


He looked at his scarred hands
his shoulders in the polished mirror
his awkwardness reflected
in all the white gold
and soft pink femininity
and knew that there was belonging
to be found here
in these independent walls,
burdens to be shared

While she in the bedroom
waits patiently
for this new-old stranger to shave
and shower, he regards approvingly
the gathered artwork of her years,
his trousers thrown carelessly
on the floor and patting
his aftershave he thinks,
when we are through making love
she’ll make me breakfast

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© Johnmichael Simon



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