Bath in a cloud

In the sweating armpit of a cloud, beads condense and run downward in drips
The heated steam of a Turkish bath obscures one's vision
Not to slip one grips rain, not to fall in derision
Collision with hard ground, a painful sound in such a soft dream
In a misty disguise one hides from probing eyes 
A warm naked form with all its hidden lies
Baptize disbelief in sky's fog of gray rain, rolling billows watery pillows
Pour cold water on hot stones, warming old bones, raising the humidity
Peel away old skin covering what lies within decreasing turbidity
Liquidity reveals all that conceals so one can see what one is meant to be