Taking a Bath

Sometimes bathing isn't about getting clean. Sometimes you just lay and luxuriate in the liquid, warm and growing cooler against your bare skin. Sometimes you feel it ooze into your secret crevices; then you grin with the dirty thoughts that enter your head in this 'clean' place.
My bath never was clean. I bathe in blood, inviting memories to sink into my skin, enter my hidden places, fuck me like he used to.
Rubies and ravens, blacks and reds, fucking me with my eyes closed, trying to make myself come.
Why am I holding my breath waiting for a phone call that will never come? Why can't I believe that there is no such thing as 'Second Chance Romance'?
Today, why am I sitting here alone, missing what probably never was?
Laters