Last night I took a shower so steamy I couldn't see my feet. Twenty votive candles on the sink counter shimmered light through the dark damp hot air, reflecting against the mirror, tiny halos around each flame. The water absorbs me, cleanses me, drenches me and covers me in a constant rush. It swirls from my head to my shoulders, my chest to my belly, my back to my legs, down down down, drips from my eyelashes and chin, plasters my hair to my skin. It follows the path of least resistance, curls against my curves and finds intimate places before it rushes, hot and dispassionate, down the drain.