hovering over dripping candles, open windows as the seasons change.

capillaries strained under her cheeks, she drew smiling faces

on her wrists and hid from the simmering heat haze in low roofed

buildings. strings of seaweed, quiet showers.

she stirs sugar cane juice in

clear glasses where the ice clinks and the flies buzz. bring it to her lips

and it tastes bleached, like chlorine.

the second thing she did that night was softly drift upwards from deep

under the lake’s glistening waters, face breaking the surface as it

blooms under moonlight’s eerie gaze. silver shines as water

droplets run down her cheeks, seashells line the curb.

the first thing she did on that early summer quiet evening,

written in cherry seeds and headphone static,

was drown.