He continues to ponder
And his wife moves next to him.
She looks. They look at themselves
Looking through the fog.
She has a meeting she says in about
Thirty minutes， he has
Something too. But still she has
Just stepped out of the bath
And a single drop of water
Has curved along her breast
Down her abdomen and vialed in
Her navel then disappeared
In crimson. Unless they love
Then wake in love
Who can they ever be？ Their faces bloom，
A rain mists down， the bare
Bulb softens above the glass，
So little light that
The hands mumble deliciously，
That the mouth opens
Mothlike， like petals finding
Themselves awake again
At four o'clock mid shade and sun.