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Poetry

Bed Bath

I love the smell of soap.
I love your naked legs nurse.
Death could be worse
but my cancer is no curse
when you bath me Natalie.

Black slick hair.
Ignore it.
Thin young fingers.
The sponge approaches
cold as wet clay.
Ignore it.

Your smell is so...
feminine...
clean...
deafening...

Sex, one expects with you
is clinical
critical
visceral
animal
IGNORE IT!
I can't.