Fred Aiken Writing

the discovery of body lotion was transformative,

relaxing,

orgasmic,

soothing,

as it became a part of my daily routine.

swollen, discolored calluses filled with

toughened leather scraping

by,

through, 

tensing in a feverish pain,

now moistened by stress relief lotion

with a lemongrass scent 

from a bottle with a blue striped pattern

that I found at a Bath & Body Works,

after a coworker gave me some

as my secret Santa.

yet once I realized how grossly

I maintained my skin,

the process of going all in,

buying candles, 

fancy deodorant with natural,

non-GMO ingredients,

fragrances that made me feel like royalty,

masked my olfactory indiscretions,

kept my dignity,

saved my marriage.

though once hopeless,

callused skin,

weathered from years of abuse,

cut, bruised, and stripped,

with strings of freckled veins

pock-marked throughout,

the body lotion heals what 

time,

chemicals,

bad diet,

stress,

depression,

the sun,

the moon,

cutting,

burning,

cooling,

all messed up,

or at the very least it makes me feel good.