Hot, steamy, four walls surround. Tight inclosed space used form some pleasurous detoxification. Pores need to sweat out. Towel around the waist or upper body. Nothing to do but sit and breathe, close your eyes and imagine all the notifications you're missing on your phone. Wood paneled spa treatment. Heads up at the makeup counter. Risking life and limb to get an appointment here. To sit in this glorified interrogation chamber naked and get delusional. Hot coals raked over a fire. Hot water feels cold in this room. The locker room pipes in music orchestrated with chimes and pan flutes and bird calls; Running water, and ocean waves. Water for drinking has slices of cucumber and lemon. Oranges and bananas lay about, free for the taking. I smell lavender and the promise of moisturizer. Beautification dreams come true, even if only for a day. A kind of treat-your-self, self-confidence no-matter-the-cost kind of deal. I feel more pores open up in this heated treasure chest. I think of Seinfeld. I think of New York City. 

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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