Shower

He likes to watch me, unseen,
in the shower
my head, heavy with grief
leaning against the cold tiles
my bulging belly
overhanging with untold secrets
my Botticelli flank
aching from a neglected spine
the clear water
running down my legs
diffused with the urine
of failed surgeries
he touches the curtain
(a passing breeze, really)
to inform me of your admiraton
as he watches me
in the shower
where I stand, unseen.