the summertime show by Isabelle Li (16, California)

july bleeds to death on my living room floor–
paisley dress circling a heatwave. 

​a ghost broadcasts picture shows of vertigo,
antennae glinting colors of the sun. 

in the closet my mouth is moth-eaten and dry–
radio static muffling goosebumps of air.

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orange heaven baptizes a hidden corner–
solitude unpeeling like a tangerine. 

my body presses into the liquid tilt of dusk,
lips swiveling to chase the horizon. 

on the wall is stapled both a shadow and its lover,
kisses greased with the root of tongues. 

the light-cloaked mistress raps the door twice,
warbling a dirge for the day’s closing; 

and though the cricket wakes to chirp alone–
nothing of the night is ever truly lonely.