Sunday MorningHer voice slowly crept into his consciousness as he woke. She was reading poetry in the bath.Sunday Morning by squeezelouise
He couldn’t watch the drop of water slip down her chest to the water from the next room so he made do with imagining. He stayed there a few minutes longer while she read a poem twice. Perhaps she liked the way it felt in her mouth.
His thoughts came back to his own body and he kicked off the duvet. He grabbed her discarded yukata and slipped it over his shoulders. Visions of her as a geisha drifted into his mind.
He tiptoed across the linoleum towards the bathroom. The water draining into the overflow was the only sound. It almost sounded like applause. He leaned against the doorframe as a fragrance sidestepped into his awareness. It was floral, probably rose or jasmine. It reminded him of something old and pretty, but he couldn’t say for certain.
Her back was towards him. She didn’t turn but lifted both arms, holding the book she was reading from aloft, in a half salut