I lifted my old lovers into the bath, I wanted at a
glance the thing, the one I had

loved, most or less, perhaps or certainly, unconditionally
or on condition. In a tub as long as a galleon

the synchronised
washing of each other’s back, each with a piece of soap

blue-veined, after which with shoulders
scrubbed open till they bled

they walked away. Except one, you, whom I
hooked myself behind, legs round trunk, to wait

together right through the other
for the unbearable cooling of the water.