figures of the night

we sat and imagined fireflies

flitting between the tops of the RVs

as the sun disappeared into muggy,

illicit sludge. we realized we both liked

 the sticky-sweet taste of summer

as it shoved itself down our throats, sinking between

our thighs and the splintering wood table

where we'd later get in trouble for carving our names. 

we sat and avoided our tent

that smelled of cheap perfume and cheap laughter,

where we were sure they were talking now,

rolling their eyes at us figures of the night. we would never

come back

 to before we were heavy-eyed and drunk 

on something intangible, our hands

not sure where to put themselves, and our mouths

hiding something

the next day you touched my hair clip

and i wanted to reach for you