Mac OLIVER

LAPSED BATH @ THE COLUMNS
IIIIIIIVV

Let her hair wind round your hands, ignore
A while you were once yourself so leased,
A regular gawker with mouth agog,
Chewer down of a page a day, demanding

His exact double: Esmeralda mirrors
A troubled self-image, mocks him for having
Dreamt of a run through his old ruined garden,
To plunge again hands into gooseflesh folds,

Lovelier than anyone alone can
Contain, keep to the self too long in an
Ache of the kind with two found lingering.
You're the one with loins tingling into

Showers lunges, your pores a musky sponge:
Unctuous spumanti, potential urges
Flesh to challenge, leaving all you
Love undone for a new view less

Hardened, gripped by the sultriest
Blouse cuffs. Shivering, you pine on
The bluff of her balustrade, round
And up the stairs in hand as she
Bares for you her fatuous halls.

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