last summer

i’m remembering that summer party. the tall, leaning house brimmed, overflowing, its rickety floorboards creaking with the swaying, shuddering bodies. sweat and sweet and tongues and speak. falling on couches and holding, caressing damp, grinning heads. you found me in that dark room with the shuffling feet and closed eyes. music so loud it filled our throats. the bones of our hips met, my head pressed against a thin buckling wall. vaguely familiar hands roaming warm backs and wide shoulders. you repeated something I cannot recall. was it about energy? or connections? you stood lucid, limp and quietly ecstatic. chemical pink and green and blue seemed to flicker behind your eye lashes. that lax, modish accent rolling over your dark bottom lip and into my mouth. I had to laugh. the grasping, urgent hands. so absurd. almost violent.