A Soaking Escape
It’s another Tuesday, and again I’m in the library. With three hours to spend till my next class, and all I wish I could be doing right now, is to be succumbed in a bath of scalding water that tingles the coldness of my skin. I want to be relaxing; I want to be enjoying the filthy mood melting from my body, and my cat gracefully tipping over the edge to lap up the cold drops of leaking faucet water. I would be thumbing the pages of a novel, the corners marked in wet fingerprints, and my mind runs away to thoughts of being in a bathtub in another country.
I would have forgot to lock the door, and my roommate whom I happen to be traveling with is exhausted on the bed, caught in the passion of her deep sleep, the television snuffing her snoring that disturbs my soaking. She too like me has left the hotel door agape, we have both returned from a haughty club, where sweat ate through the layer of our hair gel, and our eyeliner creased and cracked like vinyl, from the bodies rubbing and busting against us being called to move to the music. We shoved ourselves free, our clothes were stretched, and we were elated on champagne and little mystery pills. Being in another country with strange surroundings, totally expresses our confusion just like our self control went down the gutter while we were chugging party favors in the bathroom, we can’t seem to translate the streets in return to our homestead.
Somehow we returned.
A waiter came through the door; my roommate had ordered another bottle of chilling champagne, and chocolate soufflé’ to digest her hangover. She never finished her order, the phone was still grasped in her hand tucked under her ear like a teddy bear, and the waiter was confused to see a person gone and her body just breaking and quitting over the bed. His eyes search the floor for any evidence, an explanation; he sees an open suitcase, heels poking out through the leg holes of underwear, shot glasses polished and resting upside-down, and a passage of light seeping through the bathroom door.
My novel soon has me dozing off as well, my eyelids are becoming heavy, and my cheeks having the soothing warmth of red lights, I’m seduced in my own slumber, that my body eases deeper into the soap suds that crust the bathtubs surface. The waiter steps into starkness of the bathroom, and at first his tuxedo and tray float their weightless like untied circus balloons. Then the picture clears, and he has a surprised smile stained on his face, and my soggy novel can barely cover my breasts.
I’m know kneeling deep the bathtub, with my arms crossed over my chest, watching the waiter pour me a glass of champagne, and offer me bites of chocolate soufflé . Instead of accepting the third taste of soufflé, I stand up and grab the fabric of his jacket, and pull him against me, and dry off my slippery skin against him. I stand on the tiles, and the whiteness reminds me to brush my teeth, the waiter is sitting on the toilet, drinking from the neck of the bottle, and reciting the end of my novel, my eyes are no longer conscious enough to be literate.
I’m drying my hair, and I don’t mind that I’m naked, I’m in another country drinking champagne, and being read to by someone who enjoys my company.
I would have forgot to lock the door, and my roommate whom I happen to be traveling with is exhausted on the bed, caught in the passion of her deep sleep, the television snuffing her snoring that disturbs my soaking. She too like me has left the hotel door agape, we have both returned from a haughty club, where sweat ate through the layer of our hair gel, and our eyeliner creased and cracked like vinyl, from the bodies rubbing and busting against us being called to move to the music. We shoved ourselves free, our clothes were stretched, and we were elated on champagne and little mystery pills. Being in another country with strange surroundings, totally expresses our confusion just like our self control went down the gutter while we were chugging party favors in the bathroom, we can’t seem to translate the streets in return to our homestead.
Somehow we returned.
A waiter came through the door; my roommate had ordered another bottle of chilling champagne, and chocolate soufflé’ to digest her hangover. She never finished her order, the phone was still grasped in her hand tucked under her ear like a teddy bear, and the waiter was confused to see a person gone and her body just breaking and quitting over the bed. His eyes search the floor for any evidence, an explanation; he sees an open suitcase, heels poking out through the leg holes of underwear, shot glasses polished and resting upside-down, and a passage of light seeping through the bathroom door.
My novel soon has me dozing off as well, my eyelids are becoming heavy, and my cheeks having the soothing warmth of red lights, I’m seduced in my own slumber, that my body eases deeper into the soap suds that crust the bathtubs surface. The waiter steps into starkness of the bathroom, and at first his tuxedo and tray float their weightless like untied circus balloons. Then the picture clears, and he has a surprised smile stained on his face, and my soggy novel can barely cover my breasts.
I’m know kneeling deep the bathtub, with my arms crossed over my chest, watching the waiter pour me a glass of champagne, and offer me bites of chocolate soufflé . Instead of accepting the third taste of soufflé, I stand up and grab the fabric of his jacket, and pull him against me, and dry off my slippery skin against him. I stand on the tiles, and the whiteness reminds me to brush my teeth, the waiter is sitting on the toilet, drinking from the neck of the bottle, and reciting the end of my novel, my eyes are no longer conscious enough to be literate.
I’m drying my hair, and I don’t mind that I’m naked, I’m in another country drinking champagne, and being read to by someone who enjoys my company.