We scale the lifeguard chairs in swarms.
Rove beetles skittering up wood, shoulders shining.
Four coltish boys, lick of hair under floodlight.
Between us, a stolen bottle. Acidic heat under
tongue, goosebumps. In your terrycloth sweater
I touch what your skin already has. Warmth
a mouth remembers. The house draped
in green light, our voices in their first forms.
Little, wet wolves. Calling to darkness.
How the gulls looked from above,
lit like a room from a single bulb.