I want to be the shower
under which you, naked,
wash the world away,
draining it back to its earth,
while you, naked, step forth,
as once, Venus, born of the sea.

I envy the bath which accepts
your whole body, sliding
along every limb, sheathing,
entering you everywhere,
staying as long as you let it.

I would be the glass by your bed,
waiting, when you want me at midnight,
to pour down inside you,
entering each cell, slaking,
until, at four, you want me again.

I will come to you,
a white crown in winter;
wearing me without knowing,
you turn me back to myself:
I drop upon your cheek.