You begin to wash me...
I sit in a shallow tin bath against an open sash-window waiting, breathing gently.
Your eyes glide down my smooth golden body, drift across my youthful abs and then rest lightly on the only hair, snaking down softly, below my naval.
Your loins stir as they linger lower.
You take the rose soap and a waft of spring freshness stirs memories of baths in the open air of so long ago.
The warm water feels oily as you sponge it over my shoulders and the merest touch to my skin I feel over my entire body as I warm to the water, your touch and more.
Heady, confused and pensive I stare out the window wondering what the next touch shall be.
You continue to wash me... and I relax to your touch.