Exquisite Rain

When you touch me
a light exquisite rain begins to fall
slowly at first
as you stroke my hair
trace the contour of my vertebral spine
the winged edges, the iliac crest, of my pelvis.
Its alas, as sensitive as elephant ears,
hear the rhythm of galloping antelope
a world away rising from the ground.
You hear it too and move to the same rhythm.
Gradually the rainfall increases
until it becomes a raging torrent
washing everything in its path away,
you, me, the walls, the sheets, the bed
until all that is left is the thunder
echoing in a low moan
that rises and falls like the tides
from the ocean of my throat.
We float for hours
in the white rumbling waters
sometimes crashing,
sometimes tumbling,
sometimes still,
and the exquisite rain
keeps falling, falling, falling,
to the verdent earth.