I wait for her every day
My quiet, messy refuge
Is for her
The quiet place where
She takes a good deep breath
After tossing her bra
Standing next to
A pile of dirty laundry
Where her work clothes are thrown
After she’s patted herself down
And checked all the pockets twice
She steps under the steaming water
And fills me with decadent
Honey and pomegranate 
Much better than the jeans
That smell of hickory smoke 
Or the damp, sweaty socks
That leave grooves around her calves