The thrilling intimacy and efficacious attributes of the shower!

 


By Stanley Collymore


 


Profusely and consistently you rain down the determined


strength and required temperature of the water I need


onto my naked body and in such an invigorating


and sensual way that with each concerted


and concentrated spray you release,


you instantaneously and seductively


evoke in me a compellingly


vibrant air of spirited ecstasy that


comfortingly and transformatively,


conspiratorially does all sorts


of quite interesting and


profoundly erotic


things to me.


 


For example, you both stimulate and energize me


physically and emotionally evoking within my


mind and receptive body innumerable and


distinctly wondrous sensations of the


cosmic kind that throughout the


entire duration of my


enlivening shower, courtesy


of your sustainable deluge that you so


gratifyingly deliver and effortlessly


too with my fullest cooperation,


transport me magically and


escapably out of my


earthly self.


 


And, what’s more, in such an unequivocal


manner, like nothing else that in the


given circumstances I can readily


remember or think of with such candour


or consummate dedication; except, of


course, the fulfilling realization of a


mind-blowing orgasm. But rather


personally, as I’m absolutely


sure you’ll understandably


and fully agree with me,


that’s altogether and


essentially a wholly


different matter


entirely!


 


© Stanley V. Collymore


22 March 2015.


 


Author’s personal observation:


I’ve never been enamoured with, or am I ever likely to be, by the bathtub or whoever it was that was responsible for creating it in the first place; so you’ll doubtlessly detect from that statement that I utterly detest bathing in a bathtub and accordingly resolutely eschew having anything whatsoever to do with such contraptions however ornate or seemingly appealing they might appear to be. That’s my personal opinion, I know, and I fair-mindedly recognize that there’re others who emphatically take a diametrically opposed point of view to my own; and I both accept and respect their right to do so. In marked contrast, however, I’m ecstatically in love with the shower and have been ever since my earliest childhood.


Hygienic reasons aside, aspects both foremost and logically in my mind, I’ve never been partial to nor even remotely disposed to first submerging and then proceeding to wash my entire body, head to toe, in the same container of easily contaminated water even with the sparing, as is customarily the case in the UK, availability of a bidet before I did so – and for perfectly obvious reasons to anyone who is even minimally hygienic by disposition.


The overwhelming majority of homes in the United Kingdom, even in 2015, are instinctively constructed without the prospect let alone the reality of having bidets installed in them, and where such bidets do occur they’re either speciality features unilaterally introduced by progressive house builders or else the personal requests to them by potential house buyers; or failing either of these two things the result of individual bathroom conversions by the respective home purchasers or owners of specific local residences.


Which says a lot, if you want my honest opinion, of the lax and widespread approach of a vast number of Britons across the board – as it’s not just a class orientated thing – to the issue of personal hygiene not only at home but also in public conveniences and the like, as I’ve previously articulated and condemnatorily and meticulously reported.


So all hail to the illustrious shower – domestic and public– and the serious promotion and execution of personal hygiene in Britain, unabashedly and unrepentantly say I!


 


 

This poem is about: 
Our world

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