When I need to summon
my divinity,
I prepare a space first,
tidied, cleansed, and welcoming.

Hot soaking water,
icy drinking water,
darkness, punctuated
with tea lights.

Aromas, ambiance, authors.

Sometimes, a visitor,
nocturnal feline eyes like fireflies,
staring uncertainly, whiskers twitching,
a familiar unfamiliar with these rites.

Rose quartz
isn’t a scent.
I drop it in anyway,
watch the fizzling.

Applying rough and smooth,
salts and oils,
I shed the day,
wrap the night around me.

Steam-purified,
bubble-sanctified,
I find myself.
Aftercare: moisturize, hydrate, breathe, rest.