Cleopatra Bathes in Milk

The milk is poured from jug to head, it trickles
down to her nipples, cloaking her chin and throat
like a sheet. Thick white droplets race each other,
in an attempt to cover as much of her nakedness
as they can, as if persistent fingers
of eager lovers: multiple
yet simultaneous.
Her hair now an oil slick: wet, jet black and sticky.

She walks to the bath, dribbling a white trail,
plunges into the milky tub and vanishes
into white, until the perfect curves of her arse
emerge as a lonely heart-shaped island.

As she frisks, the milk thickens, foams and froths,
her manservants stiffen beneath their cloths.