Anna turned the brass and porcelain handles and listened to water’s pour as it struck floor of the claw tub bath. She felt for water’s sensing change in fall over testing hand, and when the heat arose and poured in full, she set the bath into rise and fill pouring soap into filling stream, as strike of the spout raised bubbles into blanket over water’s face.
She lit candles in each corner of the room, and on tray which she placed in spread across width of filling tub. She turned down the lights as only candle and silver moonlight illumed. She opened bottle of chilled white wine that she poured into long and fine-stemmed glass. She took a drink, its chill and sweetness flowing light over lips and tongue as she let take of it hold and settle in savor of a sensual before drinking fully down, and as the first after-warmth of wine-taste touched, she stripped and sank into envelopment of the warmth.
She reclined deep into water’s warmth, enveloped in entirety, all of her body, save face above and hands that held in rest gentle to bath’s lip.
She closed her eyes, letting body and mind both go as water’s comfort rid the tensions in her spirit. Her hair fell behind, its length fanning in spread under bubbled veil absorbing water and its weight in rest-draw into depths.
She stared at the wall and a black and white scene of bridge showing over the Seine: a city of art, a city of lovers—artists, writers, and rest that dream. She let her mind go and, for a moment, she was there.
Reluctantly, Anna opened eyes and was returned to the low-lit room. Eyes outward through the window, she stared on the silver moon. She took further draw from long stemmed glass, the cool and sweet and after-acidity smooth and lingering to lips and throat, and chest in its fall; a contrast to bath and water’s heat. She gazed about her room and scene and, from last moonlit bath and time alone, a lipstick tube in rest and wait on recess of window’s sill.
She opened its top, studied hue, unsheathe of its colored end.
Mind turned. She warmed greater in the envelopment. She stared at the black and white scene on wall then lived in private dream.
In poetics and effect of a private-held romance; with lipstick, she wrote upon the long-stemmed glass.
“Be your own muse.”
And so she’d be, living and creating life and romance as she dreamed.
After, she took the opened rouge and colored red her sensual of lips.
Another drink from the long-stemmed glass, she closed her eyes again as envelopment drew her into sense and stronger warmths under blanket of the bubbles.
Her body changed mind-writing the dream; and in white wine effect and room’s soft-amber—lips rouged and moon and candle light on face—she mused.