I can hear the movement of the water

I can hear the movement of the water
in the old air conditioner. The lace
that covers her lewd body, the wet ice
on her pink skin. The sky is the theatre

of the Sun, the stars that rise up later
establish language. I measure the cadence
of her love, the contours of her face
and the undulation of belly. Then, after

making love to her that curving river
is trapped as a lake. I can hear again
the movement of the water, the quick fever

she brings over me after the first quatrain
and the turning rhetoric. I feel a fire
that easily resists the falling rain.