Summer 2016 By Sophia Ivey

Summer 2016

Cherry Coke–
Colas on sidewalk
Benches, roller–
Skating on top of parking
Garages. Tight stuffy
June air squeezing
The beads of sweat
Out of us like how we
Would pinch our waists
In the mirror until
We couldn’t breathe. Waxing
Each other raw in your mom’s
Master bathroom. You painted
My lips with your cherry tasting
Lip balm, licking my bottom
Lip, while you changed out of your teal–
Colored swimsuit in the other room, I wondered
If your lips tasted the same as his. Smoking
Anything we could buy, rolling
Blunts on grandma’s back porch
While she napped on the off–
White couch. Pulling
Soggy condoms out
From between my legs
While he got dressed in the
Bathroom. That pink-tiled bathroom
In early July where we shoved white
Powder up our nose and he and I fucked
On the beach. The sand leaving
Rashes on my upper thighs blending
In with the swollen mosquito bites, days
Feeling dryer, burning my tongue after
He dared me to lick the concrete, I
Couldn’t taste for weeks, until kissing
Cherry flavored lips for the first time,
Prickles of your stubble legs brushing
Against my cheeks, everything was cherry
After that, everything was cherry.

By Sophia Ivey


Sophia Ivey is a Senior at FSU studying English Literature. She plans to go on to receive an MFA in Poetry. She loves everything arts and craft and baking!

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