The Shave

“Relax.”

When they were first married,
she sat on the counter as he lathered,
and made faces in the mirror,

She watched -
curious,
interested, wanting
to be part of it. Watched
as he piled thick cream in his hand, spread
with fingertips down his jaw, across
his chin, as he buried the weekend’s passion
beneath the purity of white.

She watched –
As he folded
lips together; sensitive explorers that travel softly
over hills and valleys, backed by blades,
tenuous threats,
mounting tension.

She watched –
As he warmed his razor beneath the stream of hot
water. Mourned each whisker
as it washed down the drain, gently caressed
his face;
the smooth skin,
the occasional errant whisker,
stretched up to take in his clean scent
hand studied against his chest,

his soul drawn to the radiant warmth
spread
past the bonds of time, as he searches
her wondering eyes.
Resonance of remembrance reaches deep.

“It might be fun.”
Eyes closed,

Her warm hands test,
light touch fondles the stubble of growth,
gently massages the skin.
Her shadow circles his chair;
to be at her mercy,
the echo of her touch clings like a warm breeze.


“shhhhhh”, water in the sink; her breathy
whisper,
she holds a warm moist
cloth to his face,
cradling him between her hands,
As she has always held him;
between breaths.

he can feel the press of her legs
at his knees
and opens
to give her more room, breathes
in the moist
air with the scent of her hair -
so close.

his hands
pat nervously on his thighs
feeling their own mind, a strand of her hair
tickles his cheek as she leans in, her lips
soft and delicate, still holding his face.

His hands find themselves on the back of her thighs,
still reaching as she backs away.

“Relax”.