summer elegy

by Charlotte Covey

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the night turned purple in the rain. we wore
black because we wanted to, pale
cheeks & breasts, mouths
sangria lipped. we swallowed every
glass, our palms slamming
tables with each drink. ran
down cobblestoned streets, heels
clacking. never knew where we were
ending when the moon
was bright, ‘til we were falling
over foreign couches past sunrise.
the slats in the blinds rippling our cotton
mouths, our bruised eyes & numbed
jaws. we made our place in dirty
bathrooms, in stained sofas next to blue-
eyed strangers who swore they knew
us by our wrists– we let them
because we could. we swallowed
stale air when we left, dead
grass to our toes. we held hands to
the bus stop, thought of we & hickeys & home.