the summer after the market crashed
we went to a party in the lake
(in, not at)
sneaking past the fireflies
and the fairies dressed just so,
bioluminescence speckling their dresses
with unnatural starlight.

the lakehouse was a retreat,
the lake, gentler than any city pool
we donned last summer’s dresses
in lieu of swimwear, pink for me
and champagne for you,
always your favorite,
the capelet billowing in the water
as you led me under the dock,
hand in hand,
to another world.

here, the lily pads were dance floors,
air and water equally fluid,
and we breathed between them,
we silly humans, giggly off
the joy of rebellion,
of knowing we shouldn’t be here,
and dancing anyways.
you kissed me with joy
and you went to find a drink.

the others swirled in green and gold,
aglow from the inside,
sharp teeth and ears and eyes with pupils
like the diamonds they wore
they were all diamond, through and through,
and when you stopped to ask directions
from one with hair as painfully shiny as the sun,
I knew we were through, too.

he kissed your hand and your spine jolted,
straight as a metal rod, foreignly solid
in this liquid world
he kissed your wrist and you followed him
I screamed your name
you didn’t look back,
your arm moved mechanically, to his,
and even though you never waltzed
you did for him.

charmed,
I’m sure, by his diamond eyes,
his diamond lips, his diamond voice,
sharp enough to shape you into
anything he wanted.

water stained my dress,
the night air too warm, too humid,
we had come here hand in hand,
but now I am alone.