I wish to soak in a pool of mud naked. My body should be scrubbed with salts from the Dead Sea or a desert that is hardly visited. Oils should be silky and smell of luxury. Lord knows at the price they charge everything should be worthy of the queen I wish to be.
I want to sip something freshly opened, with floating fruit or bubbles, with a new glass in every room I visit.
A man with hands made for basketballs, should rub the knots from my shoulders and lower back. Doesn't matter what he looks like, I should only see his feet as hot stones are placed upon my skin.
Someone will lead me to the next room where fingers should rub across my scalp as lather works through the long strands of my head. Nails are buffed as feet soak.
The woman preparing to walk out the door isn't the same as that who walked in. Refreshed, ready to tackle the world. I put my tennis shoes back on, my jeans and my t-shirt. I might not look like a queen by the smile is worthy of bowing men.