I stand in the shower and the water trickles down my face and slicks my hair into a combed back wedge of deepest black. The liquid sits and dribbles down my breasts, and hits the porcelain in a welling pool. The clarity swirls down into the pipes and the sewers. I arch my foot into a tip toe point, lift it to the side of the bath and slide my slick fingers between my legs. I think of him, how he has done this to me before and how I yearn for his touch again.
A fluttering breath.
The steam rises.
The heat rests heavy on my chest.
The air comes short.
In the water there is tranquility and peace, there is colour and light. There are fish and worms and creatures in its depths. There is a darkness. I frantically stroke and swim to reach the drop off. A long way down to a twisting molten core. Hot heat, wet water, broken drifting wood. A warm gasp, a bubbling geyser a spurt of dripping froth.
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