Lizbeth sits
in the bath
sponges down

and under
her thin arms
over small

but full *******
soapy suds
hot water

pretending
Benedict
is washing

between thighs
(here she sighs)
wiggles her

two big toes
she wonders
if he would

do such things
she doubts it
not the type

but she's tried
to get him
to have ***

even once
in her room
but mother

came back too
soon and spoilt
her chances

and that time
in his room
with his tank

of old bones
skeletons
and bird's eggs

and model
Spitfire
hanging down

but no ***
frustrated
she sponges

along thighs
imagining
it is he

rubbing her
his warm lips
planting hot

wet kisses
on the back
of her hand

touch on touch
O too much
if was such.