The Rosemary Bath Poem by Gordon R Menzies

The door is partly open, white towel spills
from countertop, flirts with the floor
wet footprint ghosts across clay tile
misty mirror catches the tubs edge, veils
the painting opposite, a smear of colour
falling water as she lifts a pale leg, runs
steeped rosemary wand down its length
rosemary and rose petals fill the air
stemless glass of silvery wine sits in ice
bedded in an explosion of red strawberries
birdsong falls like leaves past open window
Puccini sends shivers through the edges
of her skin, caressed by water droplets
trailing slowly over curves, and lingering,
haffet-locks touch her earlobes, reach
for nape of neck where her damp hair
frames her bare shoulders, wild ivy,
Beneath the water, her body shimmers
she shines with a soft tremulous light
as if it might only be a dream, this
pale woman risen from the rose water
strawberry, wine and rosemary wands
I want to hold her as the water holds her
Everywhere