Whoever had been there before you forgot to turn the pool lights all the way off.

We spent pocket-change on a cheap climb up the chain-link fence- there was something I had to show you, I’d said. I watched as you dove in with rippling breath,

cool over my droplet-smattered skin, as though it were the middle of November again. You had told me you’d never been kissed in the rain, and so, drip-lipped and tight-chested, I opened your mouth and drew empty bubbles. Your hair billowed out in the expanse of touch. We made laps around each other,

your bones slipping soft-susceptible around, under the midnight light. I showed you what a touch felt like without the feverless truth of the wind. That one underwater floodlight shone through midnight chlorine, refracting your grin off the wall-tiles in a dizzy dance.

I breathed nothing but you all night.