September, 1973. Auckland, New Zealand.

Gurgling drain sounds and water-hiss noise rise on a curtain of steam vapor.

Accompanied by your soft and blurry features moving like a desert heat-haze

on the other side of frosted-glass.

I watched, and I waited, in silence.

You emerge with triumphant fanfare to kiss me, with eyes refreshed and shining.

Then quickly wrap wet hair on h igh, to wrestle a bathrobe into comfort.

I reach out and pull you close to me to cup your glowing and freshly-scrubbed

face in my hands.

I need to burn the impression of this wonderful vision of you into my soul.

I’m so happy being here with you, Rushki.

Have I told you today that I love  you?