Abscessed within masks of clay,
her hourglass body is a muddy token.
What pyres burn in a cheap bathtub!
Legs unfolded, then crossed. A cry
for permanent debauchery, paler limbs,
piling hair, sponge-swabbed muscles.
To carry a woman from a bath is folly
when she stands oviferous for a towel
blowing kisses to the gazer. Adamant wise,
the mirror’s angles cascade for infinity
to turn to never and back again.
This is what gazing has gained,
slumberous bather in a phoenix life,
sauntering as by equinox, body
dropping jewels. Night’s soapy musk
seeps into the hands, a plucked lyre
to coax a deeper moving virtue, freed of will.
