rain over the Pacific (redact #1)

Her nights were spent that summer
on a sticky factory floor;
for the first time
her jeans were too tight and sometimes
desperation hung in the lanks
of her hair like coming thunderstorms
on a sulky afternoon.
Her daydreams rubbed at reality
like grains of sand
between the burnt edges
of her shoulderblades,
a glittery tenderness
taunting the horizon like
rain over the Pacific
or the sweat
that beads on the skin of all
the lovers she might have had;
mixed heavily in her gut
with the leftover yawn
of tequila’s acid and tomorrow’s
mistakes it burnt
all the way