I want to remember warming your two a.M. Bottle, clipping your locks, watching you be baptized, bathing you in the big porcelain sink… how I often laid you against my chest and felt the cradlesong of your tiny breaths as you fell asleep . . .

Echo of the waves appears in the sky, their lights reflected in your eyes. I'm back in our world and happy again. The sound of your voice, compassionate embrace... The power in your touch, serenity of stride... The beating of your heart calms down my presence, gracing with eternal peace of mind... Bathing in the sunshine of your arms I'm deeply aware of the melodic stream that has no language...Gliding beneath the quiet Heaven of your eyes...

To accuse the American male of not bathing in Paris is merely to flatter him.

Of course motivation is not permanent. But then, neither is bathing; but it is something you should do on a regular basis.