“Play it again.”
A bulbous speaker
pulses on the side
of your plastic-coated
shower man cave.
Makes the droplets
wiggle and giggle
as they sloppily glide
down your backside.
We scrub the whole time
Bowie blasts,
“Let’s Dance!”
Chatting away the chaffing.
Pausing to scrub and sway
like pumice stone friends.
I never look below to see
where the sound of this song playing
on the radio might actually go.
You ask if I want a shave?
It’s personal grooming
before the blooming.
Trembling like a flower
I let you lather.
Your hips hinge back
invading the empty space
with twin white disks of moonlight.
Color lights up my face,
the blade is bold
for fear tonight is all.
Then, your fingers dance.
Artful body barber
you sway and trace
and just dance.
While all I can say is,
“Play it again.”
Yard Sale of Thoughts 
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