I sit on the toilet seat listening the the sidewalk chalk scritch of blade on hair
This is our thing our thrice weekly ritual more regular than religion
The ache in my hip fades from my mind as I watch her leaning close pulling at the planes of her face to ensure perfection
First up then down
There's a hiss of breath in and for a moment I wish
I wish she didn't want to shave
I wish the wax didn't hurt
I was the lazers were closer
I wish the hair never grew at all
I wish it grew on me instead
Then she breathes out wipes the blood and the silence returns
Her beauty is doubled by her relief













