Our summers carried hot days
where our skins shook loose and raw
wet and sticky
warm and blurry
like shared memories.
We loved the rain and shower
and felt safe under their power.
In the stormiest night I knew
we decided to cleanse ourselves of the day.
We stripped down to the ****.
We didn't know we had it in us.
The fence is high enough.
The sky is dark enough.
The fog is thickly cut
with a waterfall of storm.
We lit up blue when we heard thunder.
Stared at what's up above
and ran to shelter.
Our skins were soaked and bare.
It seemed to be a dare.
I looked down and my shoes were still on.
The magic disappeared.