if a lover has ever
painted you in honey

then you know what it is
to bathe in sweet

and if that same lover
has then starved you out
until pomegranates
turned to dust
and all you could do
was writhe in the hot sun
gathering sand
to the vulnerability
of your body
naked and exposed

then you know what it is
to bathe in betrayal

if then another
has tried to stroke your flesh
with gentle caresses
that only broke
the skin

then you know what it is
to bathe in your own pain

wait for the rains
they always come
even in places
where centuries pass
between

and learn what it is
to bathe in the cleansing of the healed

and when the last abrasive grain
has returned back to the earth

dress yourself in the perfume
of the flower of love
bloomed once again