P O E T R Y
Portrait against Bathroom Tile
EMILY PEIFFER
S
HE sits naked on the edge of the bath, buttocks bulging beneath her weight. She leans to swirl bubbles, body curved and glistening in a coiling cloud of steam. Hair slides from her shoulder, comes alive in the water— a brushstroke in foam. I fall, transfixed, body trailing knobby knees as they stride across carpet and tile. I reach her, clumsy-tongued, and lick the hills of her spine, trying to suck the knolls from her skin, round bones nourishing my mouth. Sacred. How sacred the body. She laughs and calls me a fool.
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