I wrote her a poem
right after I dreamed
of walking down streets
no man's ever seen.
I felt a mirage
arise from the steam.
In a blanket of vapor
her body was seen.
Her sugar brown skin
was white as a ream
of paper, entangled,
in her shower's regime.
As she princessly steps
out of the stall,
I hand her a towel.
I answer her call.
