Untitled Chicago

In the morning Lake Michigan glimmered
as the sun rose between two high rise buildings.
We sat across from each other at the table
eating quiche, one of us speaking Spanish,
the other speaking English.

During the night we woke at intervals
to meowing cats and the city’s bustle. Earlier,
when I pressed her against the wall,
I held her hands above her head and brushed
my hand down her skin. We listened closely

as the desires of our bodies whispered
and moaned and indicated exactly where
and when to touch. And, as there was

no complication to our thoughts, the large bed
started to float, and as there were no expectations
of each other, the ceiling opened and the Chicago stars
poured down out of black sky, through the thin veil
of orange city night glow and dripped over our skin.