The bathtub rises with water and soap.
Your razor, perching at the side like a serpent that might bite,
it's head red as hers was
and I hope she brought you pleasure,
a sentiment you can't understand.
You prefer my pleasure limited
and talk trolls and spells, the burning pits-
I ask for fairies and pixie dust, endless magic.
I duck under the water and rinse the bubbling thoughts.
You and she might make love here, next week,
and I'll buy my own razor, switch from baths to showers.
I shave my legs in my imagination.
They, unlike life, are smooth.
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The intricacies of half a house.
"I ask for fairies and pixie dust, endless magic."*
Wonderful.*
"You prefer my pleasure limited"
Much more here than sits on the surface.
Wonderful. *