No Need To Lift Our Eyes

I

Steam writes on the glass—

her warm hips, a hill I trace

with fingertips—slow.

We read vapor’s diary:

words only our skin can draw.

II

Water coins cascade— 

between us— breast against breast,

warm as our shared breath.

Each ripple holds what we vowed:

we are the well that recalls.

III

Soap stains her warm cheek—

a violet bruise where we touch,

no need for our eyes.

This downward gaze is the place

our roots grip dark, then bloom wide.