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He draws my bath in a tub hidden by hedges. I step into attar of rose and a mirror of far sky.
He sits on his wood swivel chair; next to him, a rickety table with pastel pencils
and papers. For an easel, he likes to draw in his lap.
Finally, he reveals his studies - nudes of me, adorned with rose. One by one, I feel
them draw us closer.
a slight breeze–
rose petals cling
to damp skin