Intimacy

By Marco A. Vasquez

The fact that she’ll never complain
about the thick pubes that get
swirled and embedded into
the bar of Ivory soap

in the shower—that’s intimacy.

She can be urinating
while I’m brushing my teeth, talking
about her day, and pause to wipe
mid-story without rumination,

and she even keeps a G-string
in her bedside drawer that she’ll
only use to tie back her
hair for fellatio. And, despite

the seemingly frigid comfort
that comes with time and practicality,
if you removed our blankets
on a cold winter evening—

I swear—

steam would rise and cloud your face.