By Venus For Venus: Poem by R.J. Bevans

When Finished – alone,
then drain the tub,
my soap-water’s swallowed
by the multiplied voices of strangers and spies
(with their lies and their lies) ,
hard men, I assume by their coded tones, moustached groans
and firm serious
(handsome palms and balm halved hands)

When I’m all done
and drown the sink
with air’s holding me under,
Often I hear the focusing ring of a phone
(I’m alone, she’s alone, we’re alone) ,
a real lady I presume by the ring’s everyday urgency
and clitoral pitch
(pressing matter’s are close at hand)

When relieving my mug of
Mount Venusian tastes
from the thigh-oil la’ tongue-paste
there’s a sound of strong skin, swinging and sinking
(again and again and again and again):
I just know its two clever lovers getting sentimental
with their own gravity
(neverminding clock-hands)