Musky patchouli soap lathered along your shoulderbones and skin, slowly, on a soft fine-net shower sponge. Patchouli, the fragrance I fell in love with around seventh grade (a little stoppered bottle of patchouli oil). The word from Tamil, the essence from distillation, the associations temples in the East gleaming with copper, bronze, and dusk- blue tiles. The slight friction of the sponge is heavenly, the sudsy soap calling to mind the Billy Collins poem.
image: soap suds
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