August 2020

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Cling by Robert Beveridge

It is the way you move in the shower that lightens me the way

you turn on one foot step forward run one soapy hand down

over breast and belly step towards me as I sit and watch

on the edge of the tub I the village and you the savior

with palms thrown at your feet step towards me. How the water

courses over you some drops adhere to luscious curves and saunter

downwards tongues of leisure cleanliness lust desire

without shame and some drops hang upon you on fingers

nipples nose and wait for small time before they drop away

but all ends in the same place the black devouring mouth

of drain tongueless and always cold.

You the soapy visionary popular with drops of water you

my wet savior nonslip palms at your feet you the burnished copper

goddess worshipped by all moisture hair pulled back and face

turned up to heaven and how grace descends through six floors

of apartment above us and suffuses you glints off beads of water

stray unrinsed soap bubbles your eyes your lips. How you look

so goddamn sexy in water and white porcelain. How the act

of purity ablution absolution makes me want to take you once again

under this water add my purity my tongue my desire

without shame to you. How we kiss press together under

heated spray how the mirror fogs deeper how your legs around

my thighs grip hold fast how you are as wet inside as out how good

it feels to be inside you how good it feels

somehow the towels feel like enemies afterwards