small rims with bobbing cherries glow magenta and aquamarine and cyan, colors gradiated inside crystal, every circle leaving circle-shaped stamps on the wood of the table. the circularity of the flick of a wrist, the sicking salt on some boy’s fist, the lime afterward sour sour relief and charlie gnaws and tears all the lime-flesh, tears the pulp to pieces, tears everyone else’s limes, and there are so many beautifuls, so many eyes laughing out from far boys

and now there are more small rims; different prisms slurped through small straws, the invisible empties clink and the boy across from him runs a finger along charlie’s jaw, along the stubble-side of his face and the world narrows, the world narrows to a finger and a mouth, to the glasses catching glints, to the unholy glow of bottles lit from beneath

the photograph later is saturated; is bright with the unreal colors charlie remembers—the boy’s pink shirt, the yellow light separating from the dark, cherry stems littered across the table—and suddenly, they move out of focus, two fuzzy forms leaving blurry trails of where they’ve been, eyes unfocused, lips rubied by sugar and lust