Soaking – Ginger Jones

April 15, 2025

I think I was scared because it’s permanent this time. I am your home now. It got timeless. I’m noticing new things in my face, it’s you. I am covered in you. Soaking in the tub. Lying in your warm water. Like a bud inside your stomach. Keeping you warm. Soft and wet and pink. It only does that for you. Saturating you. 

I enter our house and I hear your voice calling out to me. Where did you go today my sweet girl? I crawl on all fours to our bed and climb onto you with necessity. I can only see you when I am looking right at you. Not from the side or in a glance, it has to be straight on. Hearing you say my name like it’s always been there. Like it belongs there. Your mouth takes its shape and it tastes like family. It’s perfect there. I’ve gathered all your blood and now you come to me like an altar. It’s not about who’s who anymore because it’s just us. Two. That’s the greatest number ever. Two is perfect.

In our home there’s a hallway of dust. Between light and dark there is daylight. When the hallway fills with glimmering specks like sparkles or sequins we leave the house. And I get what’s coming for me.

Your touch is my own. My hands are translucent and I don’t mind that they don’t belong to me anymore. Because I’m sacrificing my grace for you. So this can get deeper than ever. This is the black tar heroin, your breath on my skin. Timeless once more. Like I’m the ivy. And you’re the tree. I’ve got your tooth around my neck. And my legs are black and blue. As we lie atop the sheets. And breathe into each other. I can feel our bodies get full and limber. As you hold pain and pleasure in one hand. Gathering you into me, undoing you. Your hips move into the air and I breathe it in some more. Like a slow eruption always happening now.