My Happy Place (Poem)

Memories are a fantasy that I dont dare to dream. As I fixate on the present, the past steeps further into the vortex as I stir my cup of tea. Peppermint and chamomile invigorate my senses. Steam rouses its way across my bosom through my face, as I slowly run my fingernails up and down the back of my thighs. Vibrations tingle through every sensual nook. I can hear every sound echoing faintly, a sort of white noise that soothes like the ocean’s waves. A hint of vanilla mingles with the scent of freshly washed linens.