The House of the Setting Sun

3 o'clock high, 1987

what dreamin' of a girlhood with a body that ain't enough feels like: /

heatwave lovers / the air's restless to the rhythm of buzzcut season, i'm dizzy on rosé sorbets and you're like the leather seats under my young thighs, rippin' off my skin when you– / –i go / there's men upon tv saying a dust storm's rollin' in but my eyes are already open and stinging in the public pool, too sated with chlorine to let the sand get in / the radio's all static and we rap to it, use the engine hum as a beat / we sing our love to an 808, you bleach your hair blonde and say you're machine gun kelly and i become an 80s cherry knot queen /

it's heatwave coma season / you tossed your faulty ac off the apartment complex roof in a winter fever that wouldn't go away and now i'm on your ma's couch with my skin bursting open like an overripe pomegranate/ at 2am you say you're sorry and get drunk on the sap i've got dribbling down my chin / we keep cool in convenience stores, you pick fights with my demons in back alleys and it takes a shiner for them to stand down / they'll learn to never be seen dead in the buzzin' daylight, i'll learn to stay awake on yuzu fanta highs instead of plunging into my thoughts like i dive into the pool /

when the heat breaks the thunderstruck sky breaks open too and washes the asphalt into gooey jet rivers / i drown in them, pulse fizzy from sunkist and the memory of your tongue, my hair messy, my eyes glassy with technicolor lights and my teeth rottin' from sinking them into the sugar sun / you join me, the road's swallowing us up in the last blurs of humid dusk, i see the sneaker laces i lost when i was nine and you wound them 'round my neck / when the torrent spits us up my thighs don't burn anymore, the roots of your hair are dark again and the cooler is mostly water /

– we make our summer a music video
and call it eulogy to the sun

☆
alternatively titled: i live for the summer & rn i suk @ the lyfe thing !! & i want more than to be alive