Showers

My stomach makes a hollow drum sound under my palm

I stand wrapped in my towel, searching hangers for stomach-covers

something to soften the smack of the drum to a pitter patter

My hair drips Pantene-scented rain into the groove between my shoulder blades,

sliding down into the threads that knit together my bra and underwear.

Later that day I walk through the door in the hall, crossing from the stairwell with 

the light-colored banisters

to the stairwell made of dark mahogany

Pushing through to the dark side my eyes are at door-knob level and meet your

stomach

bare,

with a towel wrapped and tucked in around your hips and only 

a foot or so away from my hesitating 

hands still pushing through the mahogany frame

- I follow the door through and past you so your eyes can only

hold mine long enough not to see the drumming