What is normal for some is a luxury for many

unedited

A bath is a requirement but 

its also a luxury for us.

We thirst for the clear, transparent liquid,

soft as hands, to hug our skins.

We long to feel our own hair, 

again, with our own hands.

We cherish it. In that minute

we feel like we are swaying 

in a field of careless daffodils.

It is here that our old selves swing back to 

us, great us. They smile at us mockingly. 

It is now that we shake hands like those politicians 

We nod our heads in approval. Or is it approval?

We hug, we embrace each other; the old and the new intertwined. 

And then we part, a bouquet of white poppies engulfing the 

helpless daffodils. Are they poppies or a horde of loose lions? 

Author's Note

Please, please, please tell me what you think of the poem as a whole. Also, can you feel a theme of 'underwater' in this poem or not?