Surely, not like this, my mother
didn’t. I have her hips and
breasts,
lips and hands, yet beyond the physical,
I embrace a more
primal, savage sense.
For in this shower, the smell of sex
rolls
upward in the fog.
Sucking in this spicy scent,
I feel the roller
coaster
deep in my stomach plunge
once more over the edge. I sigh
as soap skims thighs
weak and sticky. Oh, mother,
surely not like
this.
