Soap

The life in me is like a washed down bar of soap;

dead in the dish,

drowning in a pathetic pool of its own making,

yet to be jammed down the drain by the dirty foot of a showerer,

but devoid of purpose, nevertheless.

And then there's you, full and yellow,

smooth with purpose printed across your top.

Warm like palm trees, strong as olives,

the arch in your back

perfect to trace and hold and study.

Firm and unbroken - able

to stand on two heels without slipping or sliding.

So I wait on my soap dish, and hold every one of my hopes

high for the moment that you come and meld me.

Take my life and give it purpose.

Take my body give it shape.

Soak up the lonesome piddle pool and

brave the world as one;

my match.