Betsy Robin Schwartz

I wash the richness of you in lather

soapy shampoo

sink-side strands through my fingers

coarse gold

nappy black.

I wash you in the river

bare and brown

unburdened and freed by bubbles

kissed by the sun and me.

I wait for you in the water

shower's pulses

waking my flesh

pasting pubic hair

pressing at my breasts

running over my lids and lips.

A sliver of beauty bar

circles the drain

looking for the way to the ocean

passing privacies to the sea.